TO EDWIN BOOTH. THUS spake his dust (so seemed it as I read The words): Good frend, for Jesvs' sake forbeare (Poor ghost!) To digg the dvst enclosed heare-- Then came the malediction on the head Of whoso dare disturb the sacred dead. Outside the mavis whistled strong and clear, And, touched with the sweet glamour of the year, The winding Avon murmured in its bed. But in the solemn Stratford church the air Was chill and dank, and on the foot-worn tomb The evening shadows deepened momently: Then a great awe crept on me, standing there, As if some speechless Presence in the gloom Was hovering, and fain would speak with me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOE HILL LISTENS TO THE PRAYING by KENNETH PATCHEN A LAMENT FOR PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS by JOANNA BAILLIE S. MATTHIAS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT SUFFRAGE MARCHING-SONG by LOUIS JAMES BLOCK |