WELLADAY! Here I lay You at rest -- all worn away, O my pencil, to the tip Of our old companionship! Memory Sighs to see What you are, and used to be, Looking backward to the time When you wrote your earliest rhyme! -- When I sat Filing at Your first point, and dreaming that Your initial song should be Worthy of posterity. With regret I forget If the song be living yet, Yet remember, vaguely now, It was honest, anyhow. You have brought Me a thought -- Truer yet was never taught, -- That the silent song is best, And the unsung worthiest. So if I, When I die, May as uncomplainingly Drop aside as now you do, Write of me, as I of you: -- Here lies one Who begun Life a-singing, heard of none; And he died, satisfied, With his dead songs by his side. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A FLOWER by CORRINNE M. ARTHUR A SERIOUS REFLECTION ON HUMAN LIFE, SELECTION by HENRY BAKER STRUCTURAL IRON WORKERS by MACKNIGHT BLACK ODE ENTREATING HIM ... IN THE CONTINUATION OF BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS by NICHOLAS BRETON THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 11. GUIDO by ROBERT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: VENICE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |