How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their kneel is rung By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MATER AMABILIS by EMMA LAZARUS JOHNNY APPLESEED by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG CHILD AND HER STATUE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER VERSES FROM THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE by MATTHEW ARNOLD SACRED ELEGY: 5. THE SEPARATION OF MAN FROM GOD by GEORGE BARKER |