I stood before the poet's grave, And on the stone I read This mighty truth, "The poet lives Long after he is dead." His song -- you know it well, I ween, You've sung it o'er and o'er; Each time its music sweeter seemed And tend'rer than before. It breathes the sentiment of all; And each heart knows it best; A charm that sinks into our soul, As love by love caress'd. Our thoughts in song he made them speak -- A silver melody -- With magic hand he touched the bud That we its bloom might see. He's perish'd -- but the flower remains As fresh, and all perfume, To be his coronet of fame, Though he lies in the tomb. Ben Bolt, ah! he is with thee now, And Alice, fair and sweet! Our tribute to him be the song Our children shall repeat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COLORED BAND by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR FOUND' (FOR A PICTURE) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI GRIN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES [OR, DOMINIONS] by WILLIAM WATSON A SLUMBER SONG by A. HOLCOMBE AIKEN TO A SPIRIT (2) by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A SURVEY OF THE AMPHITHEATRE by MOSES BROWNE |