She died in June, while yet the woodbine sprays Waved o'er the outlet of this garden-dell; Before the advent of these Autumn days And dark unblossom'd verdure. As befel, I from my window gazed, yearning to forge Some comfort out of anguish so forlorn; The dull rain streamed before the bloomless gorge, By which, erewhile, on each less genial morn, Our Mary passed, to gain her sheltered lawn, With Death's disastrous rose upon her cheek. How often had I watched her, pale and meek, Pacing the sward! and now I daily seek The track, by those slow pausing footsteps worn, How faintly worn! though trodden week by week. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO EMILIE BIGELOW HAPGOOD - PHILANTHROPIST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SUMMER'S NIGHT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THIS COMPOST: 2. by WALT WHITMAN ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 5. ON LOVE OF PRAISE by MARK AKENSIDE SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 4. SHE REMEMBERS by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS TWO SONNETS TO MY WIFE by MAXWELL BODENHEIM HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 15 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |