COLD, my dear, -- cold and quiet. In their cups on yonder lea, Cowslips fold the brown bee's diet; So the moss enfoldeth thee. 'Plant me, plant me, O love, a lily flower -- Plant at my head, I pray you, a green tree; And when our children sleep,' she sighed, 'at the dusk hour, And when the lily blossoms, O come out to me!' Lost, my dear? Lost! nay, deepest Love is that which loseth least; Through the night-time while thou sleepest, Still I watch the shrouded east. Near thee, near thee, my wife that aye liveth, 'Lost' is no word for such a love as mine; Love from her past to me a present giveth, And love itself doth comfort, making pain divine Rest, my dear, rest. Fair showeth That which was, and not in vain: Sacred have I kept, God knoweth, Love's last words atween us twain. 'Hold by our past, my only love, my love; Fall not, but rise, O love, by loss of me!' Boughs from our garden, white with bloom hang over. Love, now the children slumber, I come out to thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON GEORGE HERBERT'S BOOK, THE TEMPLE, SENT TO A GENTLEWOMAN by RICHARD CRASHAW ELEGY: 3. CHANGE by JOHN DONNE ON MONSIEUR'S DEPARTURE by ELIZABETH I THE WORLD by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER CLEVER TOM CLINCH GOING TO BE HANGED by JONATHAN SWIFT |