HERE'S the bower she loved so much, And the tree she planted; Here's the harp she used to touch, -- Oh! how that touch enchanted! Roses now unheeded sigh, Where's the hand to wreathe them? Songs around neglected lie, Where's the lip to breathe them? Here's the bower she loved so much, And the tree she planted; Here's the harp she used to touch, Oh! how that touch enchanted! Spring may bloom, but she we loved Ne'er shall feel its sweetness, Time that once so fleetly moved, Now hath lost its fleetness. Years were days, when here she stray'd, Days were moments near her, Heaven ne'er form'd a brighter maid, Nor pity wept a dearer! Here's the bower she loved so much, And the tree she planted; Here's the harp she used to touch. Oh! how that touch enchanted! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CORTEGE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE CHURCH-PORCH by GEORGE HERBERT THE TEACHER by LESLIE PINCKNEY HILL WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT, FEBRUARY, 1885 by WALT WHITMAN ON CYNTHIA, SINGING A RECITATIVE PIECE OF MUSIC by PHILIP AYRES THE RIVER STOUR by WILLIAM BARNES LOVE ON THE MOUNTAIN by THOMAS BOYD |