Explore "Some Verses: Poems: DEAR DEAD WOMEN" by Helen Hay Whitney on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The winds have chilled the loving odorous South, / All wan and grey she seeks a place to die, / Her tossing hair, her pleading passionate mouth, / Pity that things so fair in death must lie; / But Winter holds and kills her with a sigh. / One kiss he lays upon her lips so proud, / Shuts the blue eyes and winds her sombre shroud.
I walk between the narrow way of yew. / The glowing amaranth droops upon its stalk, / The shivering birds are timorous and few, / And waifs of Summer strew th' untended walk; / With vague sweet forms I seem to pass and talk. / The ladies of those days in Summer's prime / Whose smiles prevailed not for the frown of Time.