He lieth low whose constant art For years the daily feasts purveyed Of wayfarers from every mart, The Paladins of every trade. And yet to-night gay music stirs The halls he strolled through yestere'en, And mantles high the wine that spurs The revellers by him unseen. Le Roi est mort! Vive le Roi! One leader drops, another comes; On flows the dance,—a stream of joy Staccatoed by the muffled drums That soon for us shall mark the tread Of mourning friends and chanting priests. Ah! there are other banquets spread Than Siro's memorable feasts. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVENING SONG OF THE THOUGHTFUL CHILD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE FAT LADY by HAYDEN CARRUTH KEEPING UP WITH THE SIGNS by MADELINE DEFREES HOW THEY GO ON by JAMES GALVIN DEAD LEAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |