They are embosomed in the sod, In still and tranquil leisure, Their lives they've cast like trifles down, To serve their country's pleasure. Nor bugle call, nor mother's voice, Nor moody mob's unreason, Shall break their solace and repose Through swiftly changing season. O graves of men who lived and died Afar from life's high pleasures, Fold them in tenderly and warm With manifold fond measures. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I DO NOT LOVE THEE by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON THE MORAL FABLES: THE TRIAL OF THE FOX by AESOP SATIRE: 5 by AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS TWO SONNETS: 1. CHRIST AND LOVE'S ROSE-CROWN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE PRIDE OF BEAUTY by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER SONG by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD EPITAPH ON A FRIEND by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LINES WRITTEN IN ROUSSEAU'S LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN. by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |