FLUTING and singing, with young locks aflow, This lad, forsooth, down the long years should pass, With scent of blooms, with daffodils arow, Lighting their candles in the April grass. Ah, 'tis not thus he comes to us, but sweet With youth and sorrows! When we speak his name, Lo, the old house in the old foreign street, His broken voice lamenting that his fame (Alack, he knew not!) passing fleet would be! He grieves us with his melancholy eyes. Yet are all weathers sweeter for that he Did sing. Deep in the Roman dust he lies. How since he died the century hath sped! -- And they that mocked him, yea, they too are dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CASTAWAY by WILLIAM COWPER A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE BEGGAR MAID [AND KING COPHETUA] by ALFRED TENNYSON THE QUEEN'S RIDE; AN INVITATION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE HUMOURS O' GLESKA FAIR by JOHN BRECKENRIDGE THE INNER TEMPLE MASQUE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE STREET OF THE MANY LITTLE LOVERS by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT |