I write to tell, when I have ceased to be How life and pleasure have enraptured me, That my book may murmur to future throngs My love of nature's quiet and her songs. Watching men's toil in houses and in fields, I mark each day the change the season yields, For water, earth, and eager flames that dart Are nowhere beautiful as in my heart. What I have seen and felt, that I have told, From a spirit that finds the truth not too bold. And I have burned, with love's most tender breath, Still sometimes to be loved after my death, So that some young man, reading this my word, May feel his heart surprised and troubled, stirred Until thoughts of his real lovers are suppressed And he gathers me, of all most favored, to his breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO LIVE MERRILY AND TO TRUST TO GOOD VERSES by ROBERT HERRICK THE WOODSPURGE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A FORSAKEN GARDEN by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE LORD OF BURLEIGH by ALFRED TENNYSON HASSAN'S MUSIC by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE GHOST by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM A WORLD WITHOUT WATER by MARY ANN BROWNE GERTRUDE OF WYOMING; OR, THE PENNSYLVANIAN COTTAGE: 3 by THOMAS CAMPBELL |