WHEN first the clamorous poets sang, and when Acclaim'd by hosts of men, While music filled with silver light and shade Cloister and colonnade, With pomp of catafalque and laureate crown We laid him softly down To sleep until the world's last morning come, My stricken lips were dumb. But now that all is silent round his grave, Dim, from the glimmering nave, And in the shadow thrown by plinth and bust His garlands gather dust, Here, in the hush, I feel the chords unstrung Tighten in throat and tongue; At last, at last, the voice comes back, -- I raise A whisper in his praise. Thanks for the music that through thirty years Quicken'd my pulse to tears, The eye that colour'd Nature, the wise hand, The brain that nobly plann'd; Thanks for the anguish of the perfect phrase, Tingling the blood ablaze! Organ of God, with multitudinous swell Of various tone, farewell! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...READY TO KILL by CARL SANDBURG WHEN LOVE GOES by SARA TEASDALE THE WORN WEDDING-RING by WILLIAM COX BENNETT SELF-INTERROGATION by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE IRISH RAPPAREES; A PEASANT BALLAD OF 1691 by CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY AN OLD BATTLE-FIELD by FRANK LEBBY STANTON THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |