WHAT though no sculptured monument proclaim Thy fate—yet, Albert, in my breast I bear Inshrined the sad remembrance: yet thy name Will fill my throbbing bosom. When despair, The child of murdered hope, fed on thy heart, Loved, honoured friend, I saw thee sink forlorn, Pierced to the soul by cold neglect's keen dart, And penury's hard ills, and pitying scorn, And the dark spectre of departed joy, Inhuman memory. Often on thy grave Love I the solitary hour to employ Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW'S MY BOY? by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN by AESOP FESSEDEN'S GARDEN by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN TO A GIPSY CHILD BY THE SEA-SHORE by MATTHEW ARNOLD MAGUS MUIR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN EGYPTIAN THEOSOPHY by MATHILDE BLIND IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: I WILL SMILE NO MORE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |