First Lines of Phoebe Carey
An urn within her clasped hands,Dead! yet there comes no shriek, on tear, --Dying, still slowly dying,Earth to earth, and dust to dust:He knows that I love him;I am dreaming o'er a poemI am glad her life is over,I have said I would not meet him;I said that they were valueless, --I'm glad you
don't love him,In the moonlight of the Spring time,In the same beaten channel still have runLike the music deep and solemnMemories on memories! to my soul againO To be back in the beautiful shadowShe has slept since first the firelightThou hast sung of love's confessionThou marvellest why so oft her eyesUnder the evening splendorUnlock the still home of the deadWe tried to win her from her grief,Where leaves by bitter winds are heapedYes, my lips to-night have spokenYes, sailor, when the angry deep