WHEN first the clamorous poets sang, and when Acclaim'd by hosts of men, While music filled with silver light and shade Cloister and colonnade, With pomp of catafalque and laureate crown We laid him softly down To sleep until the world's last morning come, My stricken lips were dumb. But now that all is silent round his grave, Dim, from the glimmering nave, And in the shadow thrown by plinth and bust His garlands gather dust, Here, in the hush, I feel the chords unstrung Tighten in throat and tongue; At last, at last, the voice comes back, -- I raise A whisper in his praise. Thanks for the music that through thirty years Quicken'd my pulse to tears, The eye that colour'd Nature, the wise hand, The brain that nobly plann'd; Thanks for the anguish of the perfect phrase, Tingling the blood ablaze! Organ of God, with multitudinous swell Of various tone, farewell! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BROKEN PITCHER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE DISAPPOINTMENT by APHRA BEHN THE SCARLET TANAGER by JOEL BENTON LAUGHING SONG, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE END OF THE EPISODE by THOMAS HARDY THE GOAT PATHS by JAMES STEPHENS BY WAY OF EXPLANATION by VIRGINIA A. ALLIN |