The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | ||
391
XI
AT STRATFORD-UPON-AVON
Thus spake his dust (so seemed it as I readThe words): Good frend, for Jesus' sake forbeare
(Poor ghost!) To digg the dust encloasèd heare—
Then came the malediction on the head
Of whoso dare disturb the sacred dead.
Outside the mavis whistled strong and clear,
And, touched with the sweet glamour of the year,
The winding Avon murmured in its bed.
But in the solemn Stratford church the air
Was chill and dank, and on the foot-worn tomb
The evening shadows deepened momently.
Then a great awe fell on me, standing there,
As if some speechless presence in the gloom
Was hovering, and fain would speak with me.
The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | ||