 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
EPITAPH.
Great Love, death-humbled, yields awhile to earthIts Bright One, waiting there the immortal birth:
Rich Love, made poor, can trust one Hope alone,
Its best, its holiest, to the cold grave-stone:
Eternal Easter of that Hope, be born!
The pure make perfect; comfort the forlorn.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |