Sad is the thought of sunniest days
Of love and rapture perished,
And shine through memory's tearful haze
The eyes once fondliest cherished.
Reproachful is the ghost of toys
That charmed while life was wasted.
But saddest is the thought of joys
That never yet were tasted.
Sad is the vague and tender dream
Of dead love's lingering kisses,
To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam
Of unreturning blisses;
Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride
For the pitiless death that won them,
But the saddest wail is for lips that died
With the virgin dew upon them.
John Hay's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Remorse by John Hay )
Did you read them?
- Birthday, bryan wallace
- My Jason Lytle Suggestion, Mark R. Elias
- Poetic Aspirations, Joe Hughes visit joehughes.o ..
- Nappy Change, Joe Hughes visit joehughes.o ..
- Holding Closely, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Rock an' Roller, Joe Hughes visit joehughes.o ..
- Living With An Open Heart, Renee Marie
- Love Burns, Angela K Brown
- Broken Love, Angela K Brown
- All of Me, Angela K Brown
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Footsteps of Angels, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)