Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LONDON VOLUNTARIES: 1. GRAVE, by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LONDON VOLUNTARIES: 1. GRAVE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: St. Margaret's bells
Last Line: But, being dead, we shall not grieve to die.
Alternate Author Name(s): Henley, W. E.
Subject(s): London


St. Margaret's bells,
Quiring their innocent, old-world canticles,
Sing in the storied air,
All rosy-and-golden, as with memories
Of woods at evensong, and sands and seas
Disconsolate for that night is nigh.
O, the low, lingering lights! The large last gleam
(Hark! how those brazen choristers cry and call!)
Touching these solemn ancientries, and there,
The silver River ranging tide-mark high
And the callow, grey-faced Hospital,
With the strange glimmer and glamour of a dream!
The Sabbath peace is in the slumbrous trees,
And from the wistful, the fast-widowing sky
(Hark! how those plangent comforters call and cry!)
Falls as in August plots late roseleaves fall.
The sober Sabbath stir --
Leisurely voices, desultory feet! --
Comes from the dry, dust-coloured street,
Where in their summer frocks the girls go by,
And sweethearts lean and loiter and confer,
Just as they did an hundred years ago,
Just as an hundred years to come they will: --
When you and I, Dear Love, lie lost and low,
And sweet-throats none our welkin shall fulfill,
Nor any sunset fade serene and slow;
But, being dead, we shall not grieve to die.





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