Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WOODRUFFE, by ISA CRAIG KNOX First Line: Thou art the flower of grief to me Last Line: Ere they close my coffin. Subject(s): Woodruffe (herb) | ||||||||
THOU art the flower of grief to me, 'T is in thy flavor! Thou keepest the scent of memory, A sickly savor. In the moonlight, under the orchard tree, Thou wert pluck'd and given to me, For a love favor. In the moonlight, under the orchard tree, Ah, cruel flower! Thou wert pluck'd and given to me, While a fruitless shower Of blossoms rain'd on the ground where grew The woodruffe bed all wet with dew, In the witching hour. Under the orchard tree that night Thy scent was sweetness, And thou, with thy small star clusters bright Of pure completeness, Shedding a pearly lustre bright, Seem'd, as I gaz'd in the meek moonlight, A gift of meetness. "It keeps the scent for years," said he, (And thou hast kept it); "And when you scent it, think of me." (He could not mean thus bitterly.) Ah! I had swept it Into the dust where dead things rot, Had I then believ'd his love was not What I have wept it. Between the leaves of this holy book, O flower undying! A worthless and wither'd weed in look, I keep thee lying. The bloom of my life with thee was pluck'd, And a close-press'd grief its sap hath suck'd, Its strength updrying. Thy circles of leaves, like pointed spears, My heart pierce often; They enter, it inly bleeds, no tears The hid wounds soften; Yet one will I ask to bury thee In the soft white folds of my shroud with me, Ere they close my coffin. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A POET, WHO WOULD HAVE ME PRAISE CERTAIN BAD POETS, IMITATORS ... by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO LUCASTA ON GOING TO THE WARS FOR THE FOURTH TIME by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: PROEM by ALFRED TENNYSON SIR JOHN FRANKLIN; ON THE CENTOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALFRED TENNYSON EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 19. THE HEART, LOVE'S BUTT by PHILIP AYRES THE BAR VERSUS THE DOCKET by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |
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