I can in groups these mimic flowers compose, These bells and golden eyes, embathed in dew; Catch the soft blush that warms the early Rose, Or the pale Iris cloud with veins of blue; Copy the scallop'd leaves, and downy stems, And bid the pencil's varied shades arrest Spring's humid buds, and Summer's musky gems: But, save the portrait on my bleeding breast, I have no semblance of that form adored, That form, expressive of a soul divine, So early blighted; and while life is mine, With fond regret, and ceaseless grief deplored -- That grief, my angel! with too faithful art Enshrines thy image in thy Mother's heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRAYER FOR COURAGE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER TEN YEARS OLD by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD by SAM WALTER FOSS THE CLIFF SWALLOWS by DEBRA NYSTROM TO A SQUIRREL AT KYLE-NA-NO by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |