Poetry Archives

I dreamed I passed a doorway
   Where, for a sign of death,
White ribbons one was binding
   About a flowery wreath.

What drew me so I know not,
   But drawing near I said,
“Kind sir, and can you tell me
   Who is it here lies dead?”

Said he, “Your most belovèd
   Died here this very day,
That had known twenty Aprils
   Had she but lived till May.”

Astonished I made answer,
   “Good sir, how say you so!
Here have I no belovèd,
   This house I do not know.”

Quoth he, “Who from the world’s end
   Was destined unto thee
Here lies, thy true belovèd
   Whom thou shalt never see.”

I dreamed I passed a doorway
   Where, for a sign of death,
White ribbons one was binding
   About a flowery wreath.