Poems with rhymes of mourn

Then thought they: "The maid to the tomb is now borne;
We too from our dwellings ere long must be torn,
And he that is left our departure to mourn,

He may, at last, seem worn--
Lie fallen--hands and eyes
Folded--yet, though we mourn and mourn,

Did I my error mourn?
No — from oppressive bonds relieved,
I left the wretch to scorn.

With impious thanksgiving, the Almighty's scorn!
How oft above their altars have been hung
Trophies that led the good and wise to mourn

We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne
The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest,
Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn;

From the tall elm a shower of leaves is borne
And their lost beauty riven beeches mourn.

And though the ways of Zion mourn
When her strong ones are called away,
Who like thyself have calmly borne

God, who wast of a mortal Mother born,
Who driest the tears with which Thy children mourn,

And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth:
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,

I would in humble silence mourn;
Why should the unburnt, though burning bush,
Be angry as the crackling thorn?

But if you spurn us, then we shall not mourn.
We too can reckon perfidy no crime,
And countless generations yet unborn

He lived-for life may long be borne
Ere sorrow break its chain;-
Why comes not death to those who mourn?

But do you laugh when Jim bows down forlorn
His babe, his deaf Elizabeth to mourn?

About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn,
"My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn;

Ev'ry drooping Flow'r wou'd mourn,
And wrong the Face, they shou'd adorn.

But where are they who most should mourn
When by bier is graveward borne?

Maria weeps, -- the Muses mourn;--
So, when by Bacchanalians torn,

That man may laugh while this must mourn;
One’s heir to honour, one to scorn—

From realms of promised peace forever borne,
I hail dread anguish, and in secret mourn

Alas ! for those who long have borne,
Like me, a heart by sorrow riven,
Who, but the plaintive winds, will mourn,