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!