Poetry Archives

Sad is the thought of sunniest days
  Of love and rapture perished,
And shine through memory’s tearful haze
  The eyes once fondliest cherished.
Reproachful is the ghost of toys
  That charmed while life was wasted.
But saddest is the thought of joys
  That never yet were tasted.

Sad is the vague and tender dream
  Of dead love’s lingering kisses,
To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam
  Of unreturning blisses;
Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride
  For the pitiless death that won them,—
But the saddest wail is for lips that died
  With the virgin dew upon them.