The Rich man's Heir, his father's spirit fled, How mourns the stripling, with what rites, the Dead? Haste—bid the sexton toll two hours the bell, That all may know it for my father's knell. Tie up the knocker. Darken ev'ry room With half-closed shutters. Sorrow loves a gloom. To deepen the funereal silence more With tip-toe step, ye lacqueys! tread the floor. Let each be measur'd for his suit of woe; A sad event demands as sad a show. Within, without, wheels, harness, box and all Black be my carriage; sable as the pall. Th' emblazon'd coat of my paternal race Fix in my mansion's front, its proper place; And, hung with sables, let the pulpit prove, Itself, my deep regret, my filial love. Ah specious counterfeit! Thy sorrow, dress'd In all this solemn pomp is all a jest; Earth has no joy that can thy joys exceed, And, could we doubt them, we were fools indeed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVENTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HIS IMMORTALITY by THOMAS HARDY LIFE'S PATTERN by VERDA BORISFIELD DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF ADAMS AND JEFFERSON by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD ON BUYING A MAINE FARM by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH THE ALL FATHER'S WORD by EMILY SOLIS COHEN JR. |