WELL sang the Bard who called the grave, in strains Thoughtful and sad, the "narrow house." No style Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile Grief of her sting; nor cheat, where he detains The sleeping dust, stern Death. How reconcile With truth, or with each other, decked remains Of a once warm Abode, and that 'new' Pile, For the departed, built with curious pains And mausolean pomp? Yet here they stand Together, -- 'mid trim walks and artful bowers, To be looked down upon by ancient hills, That, for the living and the dead, demand And prompt a harmony of genuine powers; Concord that elevates the mind, and stills. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER by JOHN KEATS ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 14 by PHILIP SIDNEY DAWN ON THE HILLS (FROM A HOTEL WINDOW) by LILLIAN ATCHERSON FAUN by ANGELO PHILIP BERTOCCI THE OUTLAW by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS PSALM 19. THE FIRST SIX VERSES by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE AN INTRUSION by DANIEL CHAUNCEY BREWER THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: THE CASTLE OF KING MACBETH by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |