What recks he now that in his silent hall, And in his death-dulled ear they speak the praise Which would have heartened those exacting days When to his task plain Duty kept him thrall? Or, cares he aught if deep upon his pall Lie flowers of sweetest scent or softest hue?— They had been welcome once, for we recall That in his dusty lane none ever grew. But while he failed the lifting word to hear That sings itself like music through the soul; While each flower-face had been a friend to cheer, Let this all lonely toilers now console: He hears "Well Done" from other lips than ours, And lo, they wreathe his brow with fadeless flowers! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MARY UNWIN by WILLIAM COWPER TO LUCASTA, [ON] GOING BEYOND THE SEAS by RICHARD LOVELACE MOLLY PITCHER [JUNE 28, 1778] by KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD A BALLAD OF LIFE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE BALLAD OF THE WOMEN OF PARIS by FRANCOIS VILLON BROTHERLY LOVE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 43. ONE CHANCE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |