Poetry Archives

O, tomb of the past
Where buried hopes lie,
In my visions I see
Thy phantoms pass by!
A form, long departed,
  Before me appears;
A sweet voice, long silent,
  Again greets my ears.

Fond memory dwells
  On the things that have been;
And my eyes calmly gaze
  On a long vanished scene;
A scene such as memory
  Stores deep in the breast,
Which only appears
  In a season of rest.

Once more we wander,
  Her fair hand in mine;
Once more her promise,
  “I’ll ever be thine”;
Once more the parting,
  The shroud, and the pall,
The sods’ hollow thump
  As they coffinward fall.

The reverie ends—
  All the fancies have flown;
And my sad, lonely heart,
  Now seems doubly alone;
As the Ivy, whose tendrils
  Reach longingly out,
Yet finds not an oak
  To entwine them about.