We loved. I sat beside your bed to stare At your dear mouth, weary with death's last pain. Your wandering eyes besought me everywhere: Do you hear scythes sweep softly through the grain? And Pentecost was here. The eager city Fled out of doors, Spring-hatted, gaily drest. The loveliest day betrayed us without pity, O day, be gracious to her fevered rest. Beside your head, beside your feet were bending Two green young birch-trees, shadowing the floor, A message from the sacred life descending, They brought a greeting at the dread, dark door. I cut those green boughs for you yesterday In that familiar place where we would stand Spellbound so often, yet so wildly gay, And where we sat so often, hand in hand. There an old willow stands, that in bright weather Secured us from the sun and envious eyes, There all is still, and round about, the heather, And on the broom poise trembling dragon-flies. A chattering stream winds gently through that place, The rye retires south toward kinder soil, There Nature shadows her bowed, sunburnt face, And rests, bent over, weary with her toil. Do you recall the evening we were sitting, Bound by a gathering storm, so silently Beside our osier-bush, you spoke, fear flitting Across your eyes: "If you deserted me?" Look up, through screening boughs that droop behind you, Ah, I was true, each trusted what each said. Silence comes cloud-borne, from the wastes, to find you, The soft scythe whirrs, now sinks your dying head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE PEACOCK OF FRANCE by MARIANNE MOORE HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 10 by EZRA POUND VILLANELLE OF CHANGE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON PENITENTIAL PSALM: 143. DOMINE EXAUDI by THOMAS WYATT TOM O'ROUGHLEY by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A DIVINE IMAGE, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE DEFILED SANCTUARY by WILLIAM BLAKE EPITAPH: IN OBITUM M.S. XO MAIJ, 1614 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |