Author Richard Henry Dana But not to Lee. He sits alone; No fellowship nor joy for him; Borne down by woe,—but not a moan,— Though tears will sometimes dimThat asking eye. O, how his worn thoughts crave—Not joy again, but rest within the grave. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments