OH, so pure the white syringas! Oh, so sweet the lilac bloom In the Arboretum growing Near a granite tomb! By the arching pepper-branches Let us tender silence keep; We have come into God's Acre, Where the children sleep. In the trees the quail are calling To the rabbits at their play, While the little birds, unknowing, Sing their lives away; In the night-time through the branches Wistfully the young stars peep, But, with all these playmates round them, Still the children sleep. Once within that leafy shelter Some one hid herself, to rest, With another little dreamer Folded to her breast; And a sense of consolation Stealeth unto them that weep, While that mother-heart lies sleeping Where the children sleep. Year by year the Christmas berries Redden in the quiet air, -- Year by year the vineyard changes, Buds and ripens there; We give place to other faces, But the years' relentless sweep Cometh not into God's Acre, Where the children sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SICKNESS by CHARLES BUKOWSKI SONGO RIVER; CONNECTING LAKE SEBAGO AND LONG LAKE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE BLOOD HORSE by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER STEAMBOATS, VIADUCTS, AND RAILWAYS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH IN MEMORIAM A.M.W.; SEPTEMBER, 1910 (FOR A SOLEMN MUSIC) by GORDON BOTTOMLEY TAKE YOUR CHOICE: AS EDGAR LEE MASTERS WOULD HANDLE IT. HILDA HYDE by BERTON BRALEY |