 | The Finding of The Book and Other Poems |  |
IV
How shall we bury him?Where shall we leave the old man lying?
With music in the distance dying—dying
Among the arches of the Abbey grand and dim;
There, if we might, we would bury him;
And comrades of the sea should bear his pall;
And the great organ should let rise and fall
The requiem of Mozart, the ‘Dead March’ in Saul.
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And yet far grandlier will we bury him.
Strike the ship-bell slowly—slowly—slowly!
Sailors! trail the colours half-mast high;
Leave him in the face of God most holy,
Underneath the vault of Arctic sky.
Let the long, long darkness wrap him round,
By the long sunlight be his forehead crown'd.
For cathedral panes ablaze with stories,
For the tapers in the nave and choir,
Give him lights auroral—gird with glories
Mingled of the rose, and of the fire.
Let the wild winds like chief mourners walk,
Let the stars burn o'er his catafalque.
| The Finding of The Book and Other Poems | |