Poems (Truesdell)/The Lonely Grave

by Helen Truesdell

THE LONELY GRAVE.

There is a grave, a lonely grave,
 Deep in a woodland glade;
No friendly hand has placed it there,—
 By strangers was it made.

And yet it is a lovely spot,—
 The wild flowers sweetly bloom,
And shed abroad their fragrance rare,
 With beauty and perfume.
And I am told, at evening hour,
 The village maidens come
And cull those lovely woodland flowers,
 And deck the stranger's tomb.

Gratitude! thou hallowed guest!
 Thrice welcome to my heart!
I hail thee as a precious gift,
 Nor from thee will I part
Till I have poured my spirit forth,
 O maidens! unto thee,
In grateful strains for kindness shown
 To one so dear to me.