WITH all the others to the church I come, And quietly I sit here with the rest; My flowers do not lie upon your breast; I do not weep—my heart is cold and numb! I wear no badge of mourning livery— Oft I have mocked the panoply of woe! But now I crave its shield, for now—I know! The right to wear it would seem dear to me! Yes, if I could but cover up my face— If I could weep behind a kindly veil! But, no, I must not weep—I must not fail! So, tearlessly, I sit here in my place! The organ throbs in mourning melody; How strange, how strange that it should be—for you! I try to make myself believe it true And try to think what life will be to me! "How will she bear her grief?" they whisper low, Those who sit near, in friendly sympathy, But all their kindly words are not for me— They must not look upon my face—and know! The perfume of the flowers comes to me; As in a dream I hear the service read— The old, old words the church says o'er the dead: "O Death, where is thy sting—where, Grave, they victory?" I could cry out, for, oh, I know, I know! The sting of Death is mine—I wear its thorn Deep in my heart, who lack the right to mourn! And they all know—who grieve in secret so! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR THE NEW YEAR by EDWIN MARKHAM THE DEFILED SANCTUARY by WILLIAM BLAKE A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY by JOHN DRYDEN THE BIGLOW PAPERS: 6. THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SONNET: 104 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 2. THE WRECK OF RIVERMOUTH by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE LITTLE CROSS by EDITH AGNEW |