The organ swells the trumpets sound The lamps in triumph glow And none of all those thousands round Regards who sleeps below Those haughty eyes that tears should fill Glance clearly cloudlessly Those bounding breasts that grief should thrill From thought of grief are free His subjects and his soldiers there They blessed his rising bloom But none a single sigh can spare To breathe above his tomb Comrades in arms I've looked to mark One shade of feeling swell As your feet trod above the dark Recesses of his cell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FULL OF LIFE NOW by WALT WHITMAN NOT TO BE MINISTERED TO by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK HON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY: THE EXECUTION; A SPORTING ANECDOTE by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE SHEPHERD'S CONTENT by RICHARD BARNFIELD S. PHILIP YE DEACON by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY by BERNARD OF CLUNY |