Poems and Sonnets | ||
121
THE POET'S GRAVE.
FIRST VERSION.
“He hath sung sweetly,” so the Lady said,Sweet Poesy, who stood above his grave
With tears and claspèd sorrowing hands that gave
A gentle tribute to her hero dead—
“He hath sung sweetly, let the bays be shed
About the brows of one more prophet brave,
He hath sung sweetly, let a rose-wreath wave
Around the eager brain that beauty fed;
He hath sung sweetly,” and she bent, the Queen,
To press upon his lips a farewell kiss,
But started back—for—what a thing is this!
The poet's eyes to open slow are seen,
For—Beauty once attained is life I ween,
And death it is the beautiful to miss.
Poems and Sonnets | ||