FORBEAR, bold Passenger, forbear The verge of this sad Sepulchre: Put off thy shoes, nor dare to tread The hallowed earth where she lies dead: For in this vault the magazine Of female virtue's stor'd, and in This marble casket is confin'd The jewel of all Woman-kind. For here she lies, whose Spring was crown'd With every grace in Beauty found; Whose Summer to that Spring did suit, Whose Autumn cracked with happy fruit. Whose Fall was like her Life, so spent, Exemplary, and excellent. For here the fairest, chastest Maid, That this Age ever knew, is laid: The best of Kindred, best of Friends, Of most faith, and of fewest ends; Whose fame the tracks of Time survives; The best of Mothers, best of Wives. Lastly, which the whole sum of praise implies, Here she, who was the best of Women, lies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NURSING HOME: THE CANARY by KAREN SWENSON THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS IN HOSPITAL: 23. MUSIC by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY FOR A CHILD: 1. WALKING SONG by CHARLES WILLIAMS BUONAPARTE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE EUMENIDES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS THE BALLAD OF A DAFT GIRL by DOROTHY ALDIS |