Ivy has covered all the wall. How many hours, how many tears, since last we loved? How many years? No roses now. Ivy has crushed the vine. Soul, whither didst thou go? Climbing across the nests of nightingales, ivy has stifled the whole chateau. Wind, the deep wells are choked with the roses of yesterday. Is that your hiding-place, O my dead wife? No one replies? Who would reply? . . . Is it not best to listen to the wind that sighs through the grasses "My sweet love?" Flush with the roof the ancient, crimson sun is cut through the midst so mournfully! Shall I bid the gardener come? The gardener? No. It would be better to summon Death to reap the long grass, so many memories and so much love, and the setting sun at the level of the earth! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KIND MOON by SARA TEASDALE HE GOADS HIMSELF by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ODE TO WISDOM by ELIZABETH CARTER OLD BLACK MEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DRIFTER OFF TARENTUM by RUDYARD KIPLING LITTLE BOATIE'; A SLUMBER SONG FOR THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD by HENRY VAN DYKE |