He served his master well from youth to age; Who gave him then a little plot of land, Enough a busy spirit to engage, Too small to overtax an aged hand. Old Stephen's memory hallows all the ground; He made this thrifty lawn so spruce and small, Dial and seat within its narrow bound, And both half-hid with woodbine from the Hall. But he is gone at last: how meek he lay That nght, and pray'd his dying hours away -- When the sun rose he ceased to breathe and feel: Day broke -- his eyes were on a lovelier dawn, While ours beheld the sweet May morning steal Across his dial and his orphan lawn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUNSET: ST. LOUIS by SARA TEASDALE THE BLACK RIDERS: 56 by STEPHEN CRANE WYATT BEING IN PRISON, TO BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT TO JOHN DRYDEN, ESQ.; POET LAUREATE AND HISTOGRAPHER ROYAL by PHILIP AYRES MISERY: SORDID SCENE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE GATE by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH EVIL LANDSCAPE by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE |