LAMENT

How she would have loved

A party to-day! -

Bright-hatted and gloved,

With table and tray

And chairs on the lawn

Her smiles would have shone

With welcomings... But

She is shut, she is shut

From friendship's spell

In the jailing shell

Of her tiny cell.

Or she would have reigned

At a dinner to-night

With ardours unfeigned,

And a generous delight;

All in her abode

She'd have freely bestowed

On her guests... But alas,

She is shut under grass

Where no cups flow,

Powerless to know

That it might be so.

And she would have sought

With a child's eager glance

The shy snowdrops brought

By the new year's advance,

And peered in the rime

Of Candlemas-time

For crocuses... chanced

It that she were not tranced

From sights she loved best;

Wholly possessed

By an infinite rest!

And we are here staying

Amid these stale things

Who care not for gaying,

And those junketings

That used so to joy her,

And never to cloy her

As us they cloy!... But

She is shut, she is shut

From the cheer of them, dead

To all done and said

In a yew-arched bed.