If ever I had dreamed of my dead name High in the heart of London, unsurpassed By Time for ever, and the Fugitive, Fame, There seeking a long sanctuary at last, -- Or if I onetime hoped to hide its shame, -- Shame of success, and sorrow of defeats, -- Under those holy cypresses, the same That shade always the quiet place of Keats. Now rather than I God there is no risk Of gravers scoring it with florid screed. Let my inscription be this soldier's disc. Wear it, sweet friend. Inscribe no date nor deed. But may thy heart-beat kiss it, night and day, Until the name grow blurred and fade away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLOSSOM, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE WHISPERS OF IMMORTALITY by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT BATTLE OF IVRY by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THE LAY OF THE LOVELORN; PARODY OF TENNYSON'S 'LOCKSLEY HALL' by THEODORE MARTIN TO MY FIRST LOVE, MY MOTHER by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 15. AL-GHAFFAR by EDWIN ARNOLD THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: THE CASTLE OF KING MACBETH by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |