ONCE, and but once again I dare to raise A voice which thou in spirit still may'st hear, Now that thy bridal bed becomes a bier, Now that thou canst not blush at thine own praise! The ways of God are not as our best ways, And thus we ask, with a convulsive tear, Why is this northern blossom low and sere? Why has it blest the south but these few days? Another Basilic, * decked otherwise Than that which hailed thee as a princely bride, Receives thee and three little ones beside; While the young lord of that late glorious home Stands 'mid these ruins and these agonies, Like some lone column of his native Rome! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS IN MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR OF OBERMANN by MATTHEW ARNOLD AMERICAN NAMES by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MADONNA OF THE EVENING FLOWERS by AMY LOWELL SONNET: 53 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |