SOME are laughing, some are weeping; She is sleeping, only sleeping. Round her rest wild flowers are creeping; There the wind is heaping, heaping Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping, By the corn-fields ripe for reaping. There are lilies, and there blushes The deep rose, and there the thrushes Sing till latest sunlight flushes In the west; a fresh wind brushes Through the leaves while evening hushes. There by day the lark is singing And the grass and weeds are springing; There by night the bat is winging; There for ever winds are bringing Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing. Night and morning, noon and even, Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven: The long strife at length is striven: Till her grave-bands shall be riven, Such is the good portion given To her soul at rest and shriven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN OF THE CITY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE WIDOW OF GLENCOE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE WHISTLE OF THE TRAIN by LEVI BISHOP THE STRING AROUND MY FINGER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE SPRING OF THE YEAR by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: A L'ENTRESOL by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON RELEASE by JUNE ELLIOTT CARLSON THE DREAM MAID (SUGGESTED BY GENE STRATTON PORTER'S 'THE HARVESTER') by HENRY CHAPPELL |