Analysis of Emily

Nature never made another
A maiden so very radiant,
She looked like her mother
And she loved to paint.

Her cheeks used to glow
Her lips were rosy red,
Radiant from head to toe
While locks adored her head.

Beauty unmatched by most girls
And graceful was her sight,
Eyes resembled that of pearls
And she was quite polite.

By angels she was sent
Glowed her face to feet,
Simple was she and innocent
Her beauty none could defeat.

Fancied even by every sage
And every monk or saint,
Very young was she in age
A lady so very radiant.

I certainly do remember
Our first meeting,
It was in mid november
While on the bus sitting.

A lady and a man
We fell for each other,
And love from then began,
Against will of her father.

By me she was carried
A place near the hill,
There we were married
Against her father's will.

But fell upon her illness
Which led to her end,
Filled her body stillness
To heavens she did ascend.

Chess I used to play
With love and my pride,
B'fore she fell into decay
On the river side.

Her voice earned every applause,
Had magic in her eye,
Fever was the very cause
That forced her to die.

On the Christmas eve
Of nineteen ninety five,
This world she did leave
And was last seen alive.

Her cough emitted blood
B'fore ascending to heaven,
And my eyes did flood
For she was 27.

Around her deathbed
Silently we all stood,
Not one word we said
Knowing die she would.

In pain she did shiver
Whose life was cruelly taken,
Suffered she from high fever
And never could be awaken.

Knocked doors but none replied
Lacking money for medicine,
For that she had died
Who was stranger to sin.

Very slowly she had died
Suffering from high fever,
I cried and I cried
And cried I a river.

Onto heavens her ascent
Was due to lacking money,
Every pain I underwent
And sorrow and  agony.

Sorrows only I received
For the fairest of all,
When she had lived
Had cheeks of a doll.

She was full of mirth
For whom tears are shed,
No longer in this earth
Her lips were rosy red.

Fairer than most or all
When she had lived,
More pleasant than the fall
For whom I am grieved.

Where life is not found
Where reigns only fear,
Beneath that heaped ground
Rots her body there.

During the midnight hour
I stand b'fore her tomb,
With her beloved flower
And purse and her comb.

For she was very fond
Of charm and her looks,
We sat beside a pond
And used to read books.

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