Now, Like the pines intoning Though some solitary gloom, My errant thoughts go pattering About love's ancient tomb, And though no breath of incense rare Lies round the shattered cup, A banquet weird, the fragments Where the ghost of love May sup. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WOMAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH DRUMS AND BRASS by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON DRIVING INTO LARAMIE by JAMES GALVIN ENVOYS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITH CONANT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |