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Rating: 3.1

TREAD lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

crb 2080 27 April 2015
xThis peom is a favorite.
3 1 Reply
Bill Galvin 27 April 2015
A simple, and poignant, graveside piece that speaks for anyone dealing with the loss of a loved one.
3 1 Reply
Heaven Jackson 27 April 2015
this is the best poem i ever read! it got some heart
4 1 Reply
John Richter 27 April 2015
This brings such familiarity with it, such human-ness pours from it, loss, grief, love unspoken.... My mother passed 40 years ago and not a day goes by that the root of this poem, its essence has not wrenched from my soul... Life goes on, as they say, as do the years. But not really. How intensely beautifully Mr. Wilde described this part of us.
3 1 Reply
Jenevieve Larcombe 02 August 2011
My favourite of his.
5 2 Reply

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