AGAINST this thorny Present shows Your memory like the dew; Each maid a wrinkled Beauty goes, When I do think of you. Folded away in the deep grass, What is it can befall? Nor Clouds that fade, nor Gusts that pass, Nor any Grief at all. Now lovers write their verses brave; Now buds start on the tree; But Love went with you to the grave, The sere leaf bides with me. I have not any word save this; My tears are all my store; The fairer that the weather is I miss you but the more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PROLONGED SONNET: WHEN THE TROOPS WERE RETURNING FROM MILAN by NICCOLO DEGLI ALBIZZI FOR THE FALLEN (SEPTEMBER 1914) by LAURENCE BINYON ARIZONA POEMS: 4. THE WINDMILLS by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER O BLACK AND UNKNOWN BARDS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS: 5. HIS DISCOURSE WITH CUPID by BEN JONSON THE SIFTING OF PETER by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PHILLIS'S AGE by MATTHEW PRIOR |