What recks he now that in his silent hall, And in his death-dulled ear they speak the praise Which would have heartened those exacting days When to his task plain Duty kept him thrall? Or, cares he aught if deep upon his pall Lie flowers of sweetest scent or softest hue?— They had been welcome once, for we recall That in his dusty lane none ever grew. But while he failed the lifting word to hear That sings itself like music through the soul; While each flower-face had been a friend to cheer, Let this all lonely toilers now console: He hears "Well Done" from other lips than ours, And lo, they wreathe his brow with fadeless flowers! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BABY ASLEEP AFTER PAIN by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE CUSTER'S LAST CHARGE [JUNE 25, 1876] by FREDERICK WHITTAKER ICHABOD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE ROSE'S MESSAGE by MARY WINCHESTER ABBOTT KNOWLEDGE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ON THE BIRTH OF A FRIEND'S ELDEST SON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ON THE DEATH OF A DAUGHTER by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE EAVES by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |