SWEET, on the daisies of your English grave I lay this little wreath of Indian flowers, Fragrant for me because the scent they have Breathes of the memory of our wedded hours; For others scentless; and for you, in heaven, To pale and faded, dear dead wife! to wear, Save that they mean—what makes all fault forgiven— That he who brings them lays his heart, too, there | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG: SO OFTEN, SO LONG I HAVE THOUGHT by HAYDEN CARRUTH SMALL COUNTRIES by JAMES GALVIN DOMESDAY BOOK: BARRETT BAYS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A LETTER TO A POLICEMAN IN KANSAS CITY by KENNETH PATCHEN TO A WEALTHY MAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |