University of Virginia Library

THE POET'S GRAVE.

THIRD VERSION.

“He hath sung sweetly, he hath died for me,”
Said Beauty, bending o'er the poet dead,
“He hath sung sweetly, round my hero's head
A wreath of farewell bay-leaves let there be,
Lilies and roses likewise, in that he
Was white as well as unto passion wed,
And lastly, let a pearly tear be shed
In that I loved him—yea, I do love thee
Thou poor pale corpse.” No sooner said than lo!
Across his cheek there runs a rosy flush
As of the life returning, as the snow
At advent of the morning 'gins to blush,
For—where are Love and Beauty sideways rush
Death's waters in a horror-stricken flow.