Here lies the gentle humorist, who died In the bright Indian Summer of his fame! A simple stone, with but a date and name, Marks his secluded resting-place beside The river that he loved and glorified. Here in the autumn of his days he came, But the dry leaves of life were all aflame With tints that brightened and were multiplied. How sweet a life was his; how sweet a death! Living, to wing with mirth the weary hours, Or with romantic tales the heart to cheer; Dying, to leave a memory like the breath Of summers full of sunshine and of showers, A grief and gladness in the atmosphere. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMNS OF THE MARSHES: MARSH SONG - AT SUNSET by SIDNEY LANIER SONNETS TO LAURA IN LIFE: 109 by PETRARCH THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES by WALT WHITMAN THE PILGRIM SOUL by MATHILDE BLIND THE TRUCE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE NIGHT AND MORNING SONGS: 9. A MAD MAID'S SONG by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |