SLOW and weary, moves a dreary Stout black bark the stream along; Visors wearing, all-uncaring, Funeral mutes the benches throng. 'Mongst them dumbly, with his comely Face upturn'd, the dead bard lies; Living seeming, toward the beaming Light of heaven still turn his eyes. From the water, like a daughter Of the stream's voice, comes a sigh, And with wailing unavailing 'Gainst the bark the waves dash high. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SUBALTERNS by THOMAS HARDY THE DAUGHTER OF MENDOZA by MIRABEAU BONAPARTE LAMAR A WOMAN'S ANSWER by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER A MINUET ON REACHING THE AGE OF FIFTY by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE ALCHEMIST by ST. CLAIR ADAMS THE LETTER; EDWARD ROWLAND SILL, DIED FEBRUARY 27, 1887 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |