Poems | ||
A DIRGE.
Hence afar, fond mirth, mad folly;Here dwells only melancholy;
Hence are banished smiles and gladness;
Here we sit us down with sadness;
Here we converse hold of death,
Pale decay and parting breath;
Here will each to each recall
Mouldering graves, the end of all,
Shrouds and knells, the common doom,
Worms, the coffin and the tomb;
Hence afar, fond mirth, mad folly;
Here dwells ever melancholy.
Poems | ||