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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Dirge Over A Nameless Grave
Work rating: Medium

By yon still river, where the wave
   Is winding slow at evening`s close,
The beech, upon a nameless grave,
   Its sadly-moving shadow throws.

O`er the fair woods the sun looks down
   Upon the many-twinkling leaves,
And twilight`s mellow shades are brown,
   Where darkly the green turf upheaves.

The river glides in silence there,
   And hardly waves the sapling tree:
Sweet flowers are springing, and the air
   Is full of balm,-- but where is she!

They bade her wed a son of pride,
   And leave the hope she cherished long:
She loved but one,-- and would not hide
   A love which knew no wrong.

And months went sadly on,-- and years:--
   And she was wasting day by day:
At length she died, -- and many tears
   Were shed, that she should pass away.

Then came a gray old man, and knelt
   With bitter weeping by her tomb:--
And others mourned for him, who felt
   That he had sealed a daughter`s doom.

The funeral train has long past on,
   And time wiped dry the father`s tear!
Farewell -- lost maiden! -- there is one
   That mourns thee yet -- and he is here.
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