The Funeral Wreath
There is a cottage trim and neat,
Who dwelt within I cannot say,
It seemed so homey a retreat,
My steps have often led that way.
But now a wreath is hung before
Its silent door.
A funeral wreath of sombre tone
Where Death has shed a ray of gloom;
And someone mourns for someone gone
Within a vacant darkened room.
So eloquent of human grief
Is every leaf!
Such is the laurel crown that waits
Our journey’s end through toil and tears;
The emblem grim that decorates
Your door and mine, e’er many years
So that some idle passer by
May wonder why!