Under the lilacs we shall meet no more, Nor Alfred's welcome hail me at the door, Nor the brave guardian of the hall contend In harsher voice to greet his trusty friend, Nor on the banks of Arno or of Seine Sure is my hope to bend my steps again; But be it surer, Margarite, that Power May still remember many a festive hour, More festive when we saw the captive free, And clasp afresh the hand held forth by thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR BROTHER'S KEEPER by W. H. ANDERSON A COURTESAN'S BIRTHDAY by ROBERT AVRETT AN EPITAPH, ON A FOOLISH BOASTER by PHILIP AYRES TWELVE SONNETS: 12. AFTER BATTLE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) O YE JOYS! by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON CONTRABAND by AVENELLE WILMETH BLAIR DEATHLESS LOVE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE CISMA DE INGLATERRA: STANZA 2 by PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA THE LORDS' MASQUE: THE FIRST INVOCATION IN A FULL SONG by THOMAS CAMPION |