Dead Hope
(Macmillan’s Magazine, May 1868.)
Hope new born one pleasant mornDied at even;Hope dead lives nevermore.No, not in heaven.
If his shroud were but a cloudTo weep itself away;Or were he buried undergroundTo sprout some day!But dead and gone is dead and goneVainly wept upon. 10
Nought we place above his faceTo mark the spot,But it shows a barren placeIn our lot.Hope has birth no more on earthMorn or even;Hope dead lives nevermore,No, not in heaven.