 | Historical Odes and Other Poems |  |
118
Death.
I grieve not at the thought of pain,
I wear no eye of gloom,
Though with the halting funeral train
I stand beside the tomb;
And in the fading of earth's light
My torch becomes a plume.
I wear no eye of gloom,
Though with the halting funeral train
I stand beside the tomb;
And in the fading of earth's light
My torch becomes a plume.
Besides the perished form do I
Preserving balms inter;
I burn the costly spicery
Of rosemary and myrrh;
I bind about my happy brow
The ever-during fir.
Preserving balms inter;
I burn the costly spicery
Of rosemary and myrrh;
I bind about my happy brow
The ever-during fir.
Upon the hillock of the grave
I plant the living sod;
Each atom of earth's dust I save
To be returned to God:
There is an angel great and dread
In each revered clod.
I plant the living sod;
Each atom of earth's dust I save
To be returned to God:
There is an angel great and dread
In each revered clod.
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