Ye vales and woods! fair scenes of happier hours; Ye feather'd people, tenants of the grove; And you, bright stream! befringed with shrubs and flowers; Behold my grief, ye witnesses of love! For ye beheld my infant passion rise, And saw thro' years unchang'd my faithful flame; Now cold, in dust, the beauteous object lies, And you, ye conscious scenes, are still the same! While busy Memory still delights to dwell On all the charms these bitter tears deplore, And with a trembling hand describes too well The angel form I shall behold no more! To heaven she's fled! and nought to me remains But the pale ashes which her urn contains. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW ARRIVAL by GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE WAR IS KIND: 23 by STEPHEN CRANE THE BLACK FINGER by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE TO DAFFODILS by ROBERT HERRICK THE NEW EZEKIEL by EMMA LAZARUS THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE LOST CHORD by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER |