He lives his lonely life, and when he dies A thousand hearts maybe will utter sighs; Because they liked his songs, and now their bird Sleeps with his head beneath his wing, unheard. But what kind hand will tend his grave, and bring Those blossoms there, of which he used to sing? Who'll kiss his mound, and wish the time would come To lie with him inside that silent tomb? And who'll forget the dreamer's skill, and shed A tear because a loving heart is dead? Heigh ho for gossip then, and common sighs -- And let his death bring tears in no one's eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM by JOHN DRYDEN PROPERZIA ROSSI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS FOR THE HOLY FAMILY, BY MICHELANGELO (IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT by HELEN SELINA SHERIDAN THE SILVER BIRD OF HERNDYKE MILL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN IN DER FREMDE by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES HOSPITAL FLOWERS by MRS. VIRGIL BROWNE PACCHIAROTTO AND HOW HE WORKED IN DISTEMPER by ROBERT BROWNING |