| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895. |
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| At Her Grave |
| | | Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy (1844–81) |
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| I HAVE stay’d too long from your grave, it seems; | |
| Now I come back again. | |
| Love, have you stirr’d down there in your dreams | |
| Through the sunny days or the rain? | |
| Ah, no! the same peace: you are happy so; | 5 |
| And your flowers, how do they grow? | |
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| Your rose has a bud: is it meant for me? | |
| Ah, little red gift put up | |
| So silently, like a child’s present, you see | |
| Lying beside your cup! | 10 |
| And geranium leaves,—I will take, if I may, | |
| Two or three to carry away. | |
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| I went not far. In yon world of ours | |
| Grow ugly weeds. With my heart, | |
| Thinking of you and your garden of flowers, | 15 |
| I went to do my part, | |
| Plucking up, where they poison the human wheat, | |
| The weeds of cant and deceit. | |
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| ’T is a hideous thing I have seen, and the toil | |
| Begets few thanks, much hate; | 20 |
| And the new crop only will find the soil | |
| Less foul,—for the old ’t is too late. | |
| I come back to the only spot I know | |
| Where a weed will never grow. | |
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