WHO mourns his life was brief? He who forgets Work is the master's measure, and not years! There on his sands that trailed their Norman nets, Far from the fluctuant city's joys and fears, Or in the long Louvre's golden-glorious streets, Prodigious in accomplishment he dwelled: A Chatterton of fancies, colour's Keats, Swift visitant, by other worlds compelled! Much beauty had this boy to leave on earth; Grieve not, for he did leave it, hurrying hence To some more radiant art, some starred rebirth Where Truth most needed his soul's eloquence, And where he toils those stately minds among Who dare glance backward smiling, and with song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER TU FU (THEY SAY YOU'RE STAYING IN A MOUNTAIN TEMPLE) by MARVIN BELL OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC ARCHIMEDES LAST FORAY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET GHOSTS OF A LUNATIC ASYLUM by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A REAL HARD TIME BEFORE' by HAYDEN CARRUTH A DISCRETE LOVE POEM by JAMES GALVIN |