WHAT! though no trophies peer above his dust, Nor sculptured conquests deck his sober bust; What! though no earthly thunders sound his name, Death gives him conquest, and our sorrows fame; One sigh reflection heaves, but shuns excess -- More should we mourn him, did we love him less. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WISE WOMAN by SARA TEASDALE AT THE CLOSED GATE OF JUSTICE by JAMES DAVID CORROTHERS MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 6 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MINE THE GROUND by MILDRED BOWERS EPITAPH ON MR. FRANCIS LEE OF THE TEMPLE, GENT. by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |