Oh my love and my own own deary! What shall I do? my love is weary. Sleep, O friend, on soft downy pillow, Pass, O friend, as wind or as billow, And I'll wear the willow. No stone at his head be set, A swelling turf be his coverlet Bound round with a graveyard wattle; Hedged round from the trampling cattle And the children's prattle. I myself, instead of a stone, Will sit by him to dwindle and moan; Sit and weep with a bitter weeping, Sit and weep where my love lies sleeping While my life goes creeping. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CLERKS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE END OF IT by FRANCIS THOMPSON THE COMPLETE MISANTHROPIST by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP THE JUNGFRAU'S CRY by STOPFORD AUGUSTUS BROOKE RED COTTON NIGHT-CAP COUNTRY; OR, TURF AND TOWERS: PART 2 by ROBERT BROWNING |