WHEN without e'en a friend to share my way, Far in the fields and rural wilds I stray To listen to my inmost heart's discourse, I love in grassy plain, 'neath aged tree, Like reaper resting from his toil, to see A lonely tomb stand 'neath its shattered cross. And as the cemetery's crowded pride Chills all my heart and bids me turn aside, So I revere the still sepulchral mound, Where, in accord with nature's harmony, The awful silence that the dead enjoy Is undisturbed by life's ungenial sound. I care not whether the secluded grave Be simply raised or chiselled glories have, What record to the moss or lichen yields, If he be knight or peasant, monk or sage, Who here has found his final heritage Amid the lonely fragrance of the fields. I only think that worn and sore bested, And reached at last the bourn all seek and dread, A tired wanderer here has gained a home; And like a pilgrim here I kneel and pray, Before the tottering cross that rusts away, And muse in silence till the night be come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW MATE (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON APPLES OF HESPERIDES by AMY LOWELL HORACE TO LEUCONOE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |