Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives,
When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives,
Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain,
But never will be sung to us again,
Is thy remembrance. Now the hour of rest
Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling; it is best.
Delia. (birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Poem topics: never, pain, sleep, song, tender, breathe, sweet, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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