William Cosmo Monkhouse
On A Young Poetess’s Grave
UNDER her gentle seeing,
In her delicate little hand,
They placed the Book of Being,
To read and understand.
The Book was mighty and olden,
Yea, worn and eaten with age;
Though the letters look’d great and golden,
She could not read a page.
The letters flutter’d before her,
And all look’d sweetly wild:
Death saw her, and bent o’er her,
As she pouted her lips and smil’d.
And weary a little with tracing
The Book, she look’d aside,
And lightly smiling, and placing
A Flower in its leaves, she died.
She died, but her sweetness fled not,
As fly the things of power,—
For the Book wherein she read not
Is the sweeter for the Flower.
William Cosmo Monkhouse's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (On A Young Poetess’s Grave by William Cosmo Monkhouse )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Opportune Moments, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- OVER THE HARD ROCK OF SUICIDE, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Yesterday's Emotions, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Someone's History, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- On a Love Train, Tosin Abegunde
- A Happy Song, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- The silent sufferer, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
- A Desert Oasis, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- I COUNT FROM ONE TO TWENTY EASILY, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Velvet Moon, Lilly Emery