AT evening's silent, melancholy hour, Long buried songs around me take their place, And burning tears course swiftly down my face, And my old heart-wounds bleed with greater power. My love's dear image like a beauteous flower As in a magic glass again I trace; In bodice red she sits and sews apace, And silence reigns around her blissful bower. But on a sudden springs she from her seat, And cuts from her dear head a beauteous lock, And gives it me -- the very joy's a shock. The Evil One soon spoilt my rapture sweet: The hair he twisted in a rope full strong, And many a year has dragg'd me thus along. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S EVE by DAVID IGNATOW ODE FOR THE BURIAL OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE SCARE-FIRE by ROBERT HERRICK THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY [1621] by MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON |