In my deep heart these chimes would still have rung To toll your passing, had you not been dead; For time a sadder mask than death may spread Over the face that ever should be young. The bough that falls with all its trophies hung Falls not too soon, but lays its flower-crowned head Most royal in the dust, with no leaf shed Unhallowed or unchiselled or unsung. And though the after world will never hear The happy name of one so gently true, Nor chronicles write large this fatal year, Yet we who loved you, though we be but few, Keep you in whatsoe'er things are good, and rear In our weak virtues monuments to you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INTERIM by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY OF TREASON by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS THE FALL OF RICHMOND [APRIL, 1865] by HERMAN MELVILLE THE VANITY OF THE WORLD by FRANCIS QUARLES PROTHALAMION by EDMUND SPENSER EASTER (TO A BASE AND TWO TREBLES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |