She who saw blue-eyed Shelley plain is gone. Weep, little Loves and Venuses, ah, weep! Snapt the last link with Epipsychidion, Merged in the bosom of eternal sleep. Gone the last relic of the days of Keats, Gone the last memory of sweet Leigh Hunt, Death with a thousand bitter gross defeats, Doth our poor generation aye confront. But none more bitter is than this which flings Oblivion o'er the splendours of Song's saints. I do not care at all what poet sings Today, or what his elegies or plaints, For Mary Cowden Clarke is of the dead. Down there in sunny Genoa she lies. The laurel fades on many a marble head Now that their last contemporary dies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISCARIOT by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN THE AEOLIAN HARP by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SONG; IN IMITATION OF SHAKESPEARE'S 'BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND' by JAMES BEATTIE BEAUTIFUL WORLD! by JOHN STUART BLACKIE THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT LAST DAYS OF QUEEN ELIZABETH by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |