How still they sleep within the city moil In their old churchyard with its sighing trees, Where sometimes through the din a twilight breeze Makes one forget the busy streets of toil; But they have little thought of worldly spoil Or the great gain of mortal victories, Their hopes, their dreams, are cold and dead as these Quaint, time-worn gravestones crumbling on the soil. Yet they once lived and struggled years ago; Their hearts beat madly as these hearts of ours— And now is all undone in dreamless rest? See, a great city stands against the glow— Their city, they who here beneath the flowers Have known so long God's gift of peace, most blest! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 17. A LOVER'S PLEA by THOMAS CAMPION RETURN OF SPRING by PIERRE DE RONSARD SIC VITA by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE ZONE OF VENUS by ANTIPHANES THE GENTLE CHECK by JOSEPH BEAUMONT AUTUMN LOVE by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE HALL by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE FIRST SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |