FOLD thy hands, thy work is over; Cool thy watching eyes with tears; Let thy poor heart, over-wearied, Rest alike from hopes and fears, -- Hopes, that saw with sleepless vision One sad picture fading slow; Fears, that followed, vague and nameless, Lifting back the veils of snow. For thy brave one, for thy lost one, Truest heart of woman, weep! Owning still the love that granted Unto thy beloved sleep. Not for him that hour of terror When, the long ice-battle o'er, In the sunless day his comrades Deathward trod the Polar shore. Spared the cruel cold and famine, Spared the fainting heart's despair, What but that could mercy grant him? What but that has been thy prayer? Dear to thee that last memorial From the cairn beside the sea; Evermore the month of roses Shall be sacred time to thee. Sad it is the mournful yew-tree O'er his slumbers may not wave; Sad it is the English daisy May not blossom on his grave. But his tomb shall storm and winter Shape and fashion year by year, Pile his mighty mausoleum, Block by block, and tier on tier. Guardian of its gleaming portal Shall his stainless honor be, While thy love, a sweet immortal, Hovers o'er the winter sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LIGHTS OF NEW YORK by SARA TEASDALE SESTINA OF THE TRAMP ROYAL by RUDYARD KIPLING WESTWARD HO! by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE BURDEN OF NINEVEH by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A PRAYER FOR NORMA by NONA HATTON BROWN |