Explore "Dead Hope" by Christina Georgina Rossetti on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Hope new born one pleasant morn / Died at even; / Hope dead lives nevermore, / No, not in heaven.
If his shroud were but a cloud / To weep itself away; / Or were he buried underground / To sprout some day! / But dead and gone is dead and gone / Vainly wept upon.
Nought we place above his face / To mark the spot, / But it shows a barren place / In our lot.