WHEN I leave down this pipe my friend And sleep with flowers I loved, apart, My songs shall rise in wilding things Whose roots are in my heart. And here where that sweet poet sleeps I hear the songs he left unsung, When winds are fluttering the flowers And summer-bells are rung. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE VAGABOND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 3. AMARYLLIS by THOMAS CAMPION THE PRINCESS: LULLABY by ALFRED TENNYSON SHEEP AND LAMBS by KATHARINE TYNAN THE TRANSLATION by MARK VAN DOREN |