HUSHED now the sweet consoling tongue Of him whose lyre the Muses strung; His last low swan-song has been sung! His last! And ours, dear friend, is near; As clouds that rake the mountains here, We too shall pass and disappear. Yet howsoever changed or tost, Not even a wreath of mist is lost, No atom can itself exhaust. So shall the soul's superior force Live on and run its endless course In God's unlimited universe. And we, whose brief reflections seem To fade like clouds from lake and stream, Shall brighten in a holier beam. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WILD GAZELLE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO MY HONOURED FRIEND DR. CHARLETON by JOHN DRYDEN CORINNA TO TANAGRA, FROM ATHENS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR A LEGEND OF BREGENZ by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER KENTUCKY BELLE by CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON EMIGRATION by LISA DOMINGUEZ ABRAHAM THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. DIET by JOHN ARMSTRONG |