From out the grave of one whose budding years Were cropt by death, when Rome was in her prime, I brought the phial of his kinsman's tears, There placed, as was the wont of ancient time; Round me, that night, in meads of asphodel, The souls of the early dead did come and go, Drawn by that flask of Grief, as by a spell, That long-imprison'd shower of human woe; As round Ulysses, for the draught of blood, The heroes thronged, those spirits flocked to me, Where, lonely, with that charm of tears, I stood; Two, most of all, my dreaming eyes did see; The young Marcellus, young, but great and good, And Tully's daughter, mourned so tenderly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BOTANICAL GARDENS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 5 by EZRA POUND CASABIANCA by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE MILKMAID by JEFFREYS TAYLOR WYATT BEING IN PRISON, TO BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT |