DEAR youth, too early lost, who now art laid Beneath the turf in green Labicum's glade, O'er thee no storied urn, no labored bust I rear to crumble with the crumbling dust; But tapering box and shadowy vine shall wave, And grass, with tears bedewed, shall clothe thy grave. These gifts my sorrowing love to thee shall bring, Gifts ever fresh and deathless as the Spring. O when to me the fatal hour shall come, Mine be as lowly and as green a tomb! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BOSTON HYMN; READ IN MUSIC HALL, JANUARY 1, 1863 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. DIET by JOHN ARMSTRONG TO HIS INGENIOUS FRIEND, MR. N. TATE by PHILIP AYRES SONG: FOR THEE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT STANZAS by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD IN REGENT'S PARK by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB THOUGHTS AFTER VIRGIL by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB |