Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, OCTAVES IN AN OXFORD GARDEN: 6, by ARTHUR W. UPSON



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OCTAVES IN AN OXFORD GARDEN: 6, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: What hath she uttered that should make me dread
Last Line: And smileth on the glory of the dead.
Subject(s): Death; Oxford, England; Dead, The


What hath she uttered that should make me dread —
That brown-robed Abbess with her beads soft-told
Who hath her seat upon the fragrant mould
And sees the gliding Centuries perfected?
Naught. Only good things saying, she, with head
Bowed to her task submissively, doth fold
An era by for every bead of gold,
And smileth on the glory of the Dead.





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