A Burial Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
A Burial
Today I had a burial of my dead.
There was no shroud, no coffin, and no pall,
No prayers were uttered and no tears were shed
I only turned a picture to the wall.
A picture that had hung within my room
For years and years; a relic of my youth.
It kept the rose of love in constant bloom
To see those eyes of earnestness and truth.
At hours wherein no other dared intrude,
I had drawn comfort from its smiling grace.
Silent companion of my solitude,
My soul held sweet communion with that face.
I lived again the dream so bright, so brief,
Though wakened as we all are by some Fate;
This picture gave me infinite relief,
And did not leave me wholly desolate.
To-day I saw an item, quite by chance,
That robbed me of my pitiful poor dole:
A marriage notice fell beneath my glance,
And I became a lonely widowed soul.
With drooping eyes, and cheeks a burning flame,
I turned the picture to the blank wall's gloom.
My very heart had died in me of shame,
If I had left it smiling in my room.
Another woman's husband. So, my friend,
My comfort, my sole relic of the past,
I bury thee, and, lonely, seek the end.
Swift age has swept my youth from me at last.
So well portrayed the loss by loss of hope, loss of time waiting for something to happen, much worse than death. 'Swift age has swept my youth from me at last.' All this without a trace of sentimentality.
With drooping eyes, and cheeks a burning flame, I turned the picture to the blank wall's gloom. My very heart had died in me of shame, a very fine poem dear poetess. tony
This poem had me with the last line of the first stanza—I wanted to know what had happened. A narrative poem well-told and well-crafted. -GK
A great narrative poem with a most touching message of her discovery and at the same time her loss.
A touching account of distress after realization of one's bygone youth has been intensely unveiled through this marvelous life song.
How sad for her to have found the marriage announcement of a former friend or flame. She feels she lost the last remaining relic of her youth. So much for her association with the past. A very well-written poem of loss, and having to let something go.
To what end it comes to all and the mirror on the wall, that tells no lies.
A lonely widowed soul! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 7:39:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
your just sick your a dog your perthetic