WHAT! though no trophies peer above his dust, Nor sculptured conquests deck his sober bust; What! though no earthly thunders sound his name, Death gives him conquest, and our sorrows fame; One sigh reflection heaves, but shuns excess -- More should we mourn him, did we love him less. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A MISTRESS DYING by WILLIAM DAVENANT ARS VICTRIX (IMITATED FROM THEOPHILE GAUTIER) by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON IN HARDWOOD GROVES by ROBERT FROST ODE: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |