 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
89
AT LORD BYRON'S TOMB.
O master, here I bow before a shrine;Before the lordliest dust that ever yet
Moved animate in human form divine.
Lo! dust indeed to dust. The mould is set
Above thee, and the ancient walls are wet,
And drip all day in dark and silent gloom;
As if the cold gray stones could not forget
Thy great estate shrunk to this sombre room,
But learn to weep perpetual tears above thy tomb.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |