How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their kneel is rung By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN OF PAN by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY A WATER MILL by ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA OPEN MY EYES by ALICE E. BAILEY PSALM 114 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE MARCELIA; A TRAGICOMEDY. SONG by FRANCES BOOTHBY OLNEY HYMNS: 40. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH by WILLIAM COWPER |