We'll not weep for summer over, -- No, not we: Strew above his head the clover, -- Let him be! Other eyes may weep his dying, Shed their tears There upon him, where he's lying With his peers. Unto some of them he proffered Gifts most sweet; For our hearts a grave he offered, -- Was this meet? All our fond hopes, praying, perished In his wrath, -- All the lovely dreams we cherished Strewed his path. Shall we in our tombs, I wonder, Far apart, Sundered wide as seas can sunder Heart from heart, Dream at all of all the sorrows That were ours, -- Bitter nights, more bitter morrows; Poison-flowers Summer gathered, as in madness, Saying, "See, These are yours, in place of gladness, -- Gifts from me"? Nay, the rest that will be ours Is supreme, And below the poppy flowers Steals no dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RIGHT TO GRIEF by CARL SANDBURG MADEIRA FROM THE SEA by SARA TEASDALE THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A PRAYER TO THE WIND by THOMAS CAREW THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE by RUPERT HUGHES CHRISTMAS LULLABY by MARY KATUS ANDERSON |