She who saw blue-eyed Shelley plain is gone. Weep, little Loves and Venuses, ah, weep! Snapt the last link with Epipsychidion, Merged in the bosom of eternal sleep. Gone the last relic of the days of Keats, Gone the last memory of sweet Leigh Hunt, Death with a thousand bitter gross defeats, Doth our poor generation aye confront. But none more bitter is than this which flings Oblivion o'er the splendours of Song's saints. I do not care at all what poet sings Today, or what his elegies or plaints, For Mary Cowden Clarke is of the dead. Down there in sunny Genoa she lies. The laurel fades on many a marble head Now that their last contemporary dies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HIS WINDING-SHEET by ROBERT HERRICK HARRY PLOUGHMAN by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS TO A CYCLAMEN by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE LORD OF THOULOUSE; A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE GIANTESS by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE IN MEMORIAM: T.S.K by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER A SOLILOQUY ON READING THE 5TH AND 8TH VERSES OF THE 37TH PSALM by JOHN BYROM |