THE dead are gone and with them we cannot converse. The living are here and ought to have our love. Leaving the city-gate I look ahead And see before me only mounds and tombs. The old graves are ploughed up into fields, The pines and cypresses are hewn for timber. In the white aspens sad winds sing; Their long murmuring kills my heart with grief. I want to go home, to ride to my village gate. I want to go back, but there's no road back. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PISCATAQUA RIVER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE EVENING STAR by THOMAS CAMPBELL A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 19. THE FAIRY QUEEN PROSERPINA by THOMAS CAMPION SECRET LOVE; SONG by JOHN CLARE GLOUCESTER MOORS by WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY EDWIN MORRIS; OR, THE LAKE by ALFRED TENNYSON |