IN the darkness and chill of the night, Not a star overhead, With a face, oh, hopeless and white, She buried her dead. No ritual heard by the bier, Save a faint, wailing cry, -- The litany low of a tear, The prayer of a sigh. And she planted no flowers above In the silence and gloom; For he whom she buried was @3Love@1, And her breast was the tomb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE IN THE WINDS by RICHARD HOVEY DRIVING HOME THE COWS by KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE by EDMUND SPENSER UPON THE HILL BEFORE CENTREVILLE by GEORGE HENRY BOKER TO 'THE WIFE' by BERTON BRALEY THE BIRTHDAY by RHYS CARPENTER THE APOLOGY; ADDRESSED TO THE CRITICAL REVIEWERS by CHARLES CHURCHILL |