I keep no days for fast and mourning-lay, Commemorating dear ones now away; No seasons rife in sorrow and regret, When gloom pervades the shadowed eyes; and yet— There's no day passes but some word or look Unlocks the portals of a precious nook Where memory hoards her gems of purest ray; Memorial Day, for me, is every day. And while I weave no wreaths for death enshrined, Rare blossoms, frost nor fire nor time destroys, I scatter freely, with my love entwined; They token rather ever-living joys, That were and now are sacred things apart, Deep hid within the tear-sealed casket of my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT THING A BIRD WOULD LOVE by ROBERT FROST GHOSTS OF THE OLD YEAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON BATTLEDORE AND SHUTTLECOCK by AMY LOWELL DOCTOR OF BILLIARDS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TO W.P.: 3 by GEORGE SANTAYANA ESSAY: AT NIGHT THE AUTOPORTRAIT AT NIGHT by ELENI SIKELIANOS |