How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their kneel is rung By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODES II, 14 by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS SONGS OF TRAVEL: 45. TO S.R. CROCKETT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON HE MOURNS FOR THE CHANGE THAT HAS COME UPON HIM AND BELOVED by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A TRIBUTE TO WILL ROGERS AND WILEY POST by ROSETTA THORSON BEACHLER OCTOBER by MARIE DAVIES WARREN BECKNER |