WHITE and golden here she lies; Mouth-of-Rose was she. Violets hide her sleeping eyes; Leaves of rosemary Keep her from the rainy skies, Winter's cold or spring's surprise, Brawling summer bee. White and golden flowers we bring, Gipsy-rose and bloom: Spider shall not snare her wing, Yellow wasp not dare to sting What we cover, while we sing, Under drifts of bloom; But bees bring her, murmuring, Honey and perfume. Oh my grief! her yellow hair Tempts no wind to-day. Folded round her forehead fair All her tresses stay, Stealing from the summer air Half its gold away. Suddenly the woods are bare -- Beechwoods that so shining were In the moon of May. She will never rise again, Woman o' the Shee. In the moonlight fair and fain She will never be. Poppies red and bearded grain, Bending, bowing in the rain, Sunrise-gold and sunset-stain She will never see. For her ears all songs are vain, Tossed from tree to tree. 'Tis my grief that we must go (Thus our doom is said), Dancing lightly as the snow, Or as autumn leaves that blow Lightly, lightly to and fro, With no tears to shed, Though we loved her yellow head, Though her yellow head is low Where the tattered ragweeds grow, Though the very squirrels know Aoine's dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS UNDER GENERAL GREENE by PHILIP FRENEAU MANSONG: CHORAL by MARCUS ADENEY RIVER OF SEVILLE by AL-KUTANDI A DESCRIPTION OF LONDON by JOHN BANCKS THE CONFESSION by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM TO CHILDREN: 5. DAME HOLIDAY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET SONNET: POET TO POET by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |