THE bitter wind blows o'er the desolate wold, <br /> —The bloom from the blossom forever is sped!— <br />And I must trudge on thro' the sleet and the cold, <br /> And sweet to my heart were the lot of the dead. <br /> <br />Upon my shrunk bosom sleep seizeth my child, <br /> —The bloom from the blossom forever is sped!— <br />Awaken my darling!—Alas, I'm beguiled, <br /> And would I too slept the sound sleep of the dead. <br /> <br />Cold, cold are its feet and its bosom, and oh, <br /> —The bloom from the blossom forever is sped!— <br />No more will the bird prove a light to my woe; <br /> And would I too slept the sound sleep of the dead. <br /> <br />Its sweet glossy eyes seem to look at men yet, <br /> —The bloom from the blossom forever is sped!— <br />They mind me of others I fain would forget; <br /> And would I too slept the sound sleep of the dead. <br /> <br />Its soft silken locks, e'er as sunny as soft, <br /> —The bloom from the blossom forever is sped!— <br />A-wet are the curies I've kissed so oft; <br /> And would I too slept the sound sleep of the dead. <br /> <br />The wee tottie crept atween me and my toil, <br /> —The bloom from the blossom forever is sped!— <br />But then its bit smile had the trick of his smile, <br /> And would that I slept the sound sleep of the dead. <br /> <br />No father had I once to threaten or frown, <br /> —The bloom from the blossom forever is sped!— <br />And mother kept silent till reason had flown, <br /> Then dropt she to sleep—the sound sleep of the dead. <br /> <br />I've reached the old ruin endeared by the past, <br /> —The bloom from the blossom forever is sped!— <br />He'll come here and find our bones whiten'd at last, <br /> And lie down and rest by the dust of the dead.<br /><br />Joseph Skipsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ruin-4/
