Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916.
DirgeThomas Lovell Beddoes (18031849)
N
No mourning weeds,
Nought that discloses
A heart that bleeds;
But looks contented I will bear,
And o’er my cheeks strew roses.
Unto the world I may not weep,
But save my sorrow all, and keep
A secret heart, sweet soul, for thee,
As the great earth and swelling sea.