THEY never crowned him, never knew his worth, But let him go unlaurelled to the grave: Hereafter there are guerdons for the brave, Roses for martyrs who wear thorns on earth, Balms for bruised hearts that languish in the dearth Of human love. So let the lilies wave Above him nameless. Little did he crave Men's praises. Modestly, with kindly mirth, Not sad nor bitter, he accepted fate-- Drank deep of life, knew books, and hearts of men, Cities and camps, and war's immortal woe, Yet bore through all (such virtue in him sate His Spirit is not whiter now than then!) A simple, loyal nature, pure as snow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BY THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES AT CHARING CROSS by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 32 by PHILIP SIDNEY ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA by HENRY WOTTON A POEM FOR THE SEFIROT AS WHEEL OF LIGHT by NAFTALI BACHARACH BROADCAST by KATHARINE LEE BATES |