Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet, Whereon we may sit In the quiet evening hours. He was born in the spring, And died before the harvesting: On the last warm summer day He left us; he would not stay For autumn twilight cold and grey. Sit we by his grave, and sing He is gone away. To few chords and sad and low Sing we so: Be our eyes fixed on the grass Shadow-veiled as the years pass, While we think of all that was In the long ago. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BUST OF HELEN BY CANOVA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON DOWNFALL OF POLAND [FALL OF WARSAW, 1794] by THOMAS CAMPBELL ON ENGLISH MONSIEUR by BEN JONSON A DEDICATION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AN OLD CASTLE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PSALM 4; AUGUST 10, 1653 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE TESTIMONY by ELSIE J. COSLER CAMPBELL PALAMON AND ARCITE, OR THE KNIGHT'S TALE: BOOK 1 by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |