THERE are no colors in the fairest sky So fair as these. The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men Dropped from an angel's wing. With moistened eye We read of faith and purest charity In statesman, priest, and humble citizen: O, could we copy their mild virtues, then What joy to live, what blessedness to die! Methinks their very names shine still and bright; Apart, -- like glow-worms on a summer night; Or lonely tapers when from far they fling A guiding ray; or seen, like stars on high, Satellites burning in a lucid ring Around meek Walton's heavenly memory. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CACOETHES SCRIBENDI by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BETSY'S BATTLE FLAG by MINNA IRVING THE END OF THE PLAY by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY THE TABLES TURNED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE BURIED LIFE by MATTHEW ARNOLD BOTHWELL: PART 3 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |