Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DYING BOY TO THE SLOE BLOSSOM, by EBENEZER ELLIOTT Poet's Biography First Line: Before thy leaves thou comest once more, Last Line: His last and slept. Alternate Author Name(s): Corn-law Rhymer; Elliot, Ebenezer Subject(s): Death; Dead, The | ||||||||
BEFORE thy leaves thou comest once more, White blossom of the sloe! Thy leaves will come as heretofore; But this poor heart, its troubles o'er, Will then lie low. A month at least before thy time Thou comest, pale flower, to me; For well thou knowest the frosty rime Will blast me ere my vernal prime, No more to be. Why here in winter? No storm lowers O'er Nature's silent shroud! But blithe larks meet the sunny showers, High o'er the doom'd untimely flowers In beauty bowed. Sweet violets, in the budding grove, Peep where the glad waves run; The wren below, the thrush above, Of bright to-morrow's joy and love Sing to the sun. And where the rose-leaf, ever bold, Hears bees chant hymns to God, The breeze-bow'd palm, moss'd o'er with gold, Smiles on the well in summer cold, And daisied sod. But thou, pale blossom, thou art come, And flowers in winter blow, To tell me that the worm makes room For me, her brother, in the tomb, And thinks me slow. For as the rainbow of the dawn Foretells an eve of tears. A sunbeam on the sadden'd lawn I smile, and weep to be withdrawn In early years. Thy leaves will come! but songful spring Will see no leaf of mine; Her bells will ring, her bride's-maids sing, When my young leaves are withering Where no suns shine. Oh, might I breathe morn's dewy breath, When June's sweet Sabbath's chime! But, thine before my time, O death! I go where no flower blossometh, Before my time. Even as the blushes of the morn Vanish, and long ere noon The dew-drop dieth on the thorn, So fair I bloom'd; and was I born To die as soon? To love my mother and to die -- To perish in my bloom! Is this my sad brief history? -- A tear dropp'd from a mother's eye Into the tomb. He lived and loved -- will sorrow say -- By early sorrow tried; He smiled, he sigh'd, he past away; His life was but an April day -- He loved and died! My mother smiles, then turns away, But turns away to weep: They whisper round me -- what they say I need not hear, for in the clay I soon must sleep. Oh, love is sorrow! sad it is To be both tried and true; I ever trembled in my bliss; Now there are farewells in a kiss- They sigh adieu. But woodbines flaunt when blue-bells fade, Where Don reflects the skies; And many a youth in Shire-cliffs' shade Will ramble where my boyhood play'd, Though Alfred dies. Then panting woods the breeze will feel, And bowers, as heretofore, Beneath their load of roses reel; But I through woodbined lanes shall steal No more, no more. Well, lay me by my brother's side, Where late we stood and wept; For I was stricken when he died -- I felt the arrow as he sigh'd His last and slept. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND A POET'S EPITAPH by EBENEZER ELLIOTT |
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