A garden in a garden: a green spot Where all is green: most fitting slumber-place For the strong man grown weary of a race Soon over. Unto him a goodly lot Hath fallen in fertile ground; there thorns are not, But his own daisies: silence, full of grace, Surely hath shed a quiet on his face: His earth is but sweet leaves that fall and rot. What was his record of himself, ere he Went from us? @3Here lies one whose name was writ In water:@1 while the chilly shadows flit Of sweet Saint Agnes' Eve; while basil springs, His name, in every humble heart that sings, Shall be a fountain of love, verily. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KIND MOON by SARA TEASDALE A DEAD HARVEST (IN KENSINGTON GARDENS) by ALICE MEYNELL THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD by CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM; FROM HER BOY by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |