You planted lilies and iris -- both are here. Your roses and your poppies come each year. Straighter than iris; Sweeter than roses red; Purer than lilies; Heart's blood poppies bled; Where do you tarry, dear? I thought I wanted an old garden walk Along which you and I could stroll and talk, -- A red brick walk with peonies on each side, Rose peonies, white, red and open wide. I have my walk and peonies, too. But where, dear soul, are you? The peonies multiply their buds and blooms. They fill with heavy fragrance all my rooms. But on the walk your step is never heard. Your music-freighted lips send from the tomb no word. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BURNING BABE by ROBERT SOUTHWELL SATIRE: 1. TO JOHN POYNZ (POINS) by THOMAS WYATT SONNET TO CHARLOTTE M-- by BERNARD BARTON GRATITUDE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ON THE DEATH OF AN OLD TOWNSMAN by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE REGULAR STORY by BERTON BRALEY FORTUNATUS NIMIUM by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES DARTMOOR: SUNSET AT CHAGFORD: RESPONDENT DHMIOURGOS by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |