HUSHED now the sweet consoling tongue Of him whose lyre the Muses strung; His last low swan-song has been sung! His last! And ours, dear friend, is near; As clouds that rake the mountains here, We too shall pass and disappear. Yet howsoever changed or tost, Not even a wreath of mist is lost, No atom can itself exhaust. So shall the soul's superior force Live on and run its endless course In God's unlimited universe. And we, whose brief reflections seem To fade like clouds from lake and stream, Shall brighten in a holier beam. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK MAMMY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE CHARGE OF THE BREAD BRIGADE by EZRA POUND INVOCATION [TO LOVE] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN ON SOME LINES OF LOPE DE VEGA by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 91. LOST ON BOTH SIDES by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THANKSGIVING DAY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ON H---- THE PICK THANK by WILLIAM BLAKE |