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A poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes |
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The Last Look: W. W. Swain |
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Title: The Last Look: W. W. Swain Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes [More Titles by Holmes] BEHOLD--not him we knew! His voice no more is heard; He spake with poet's tongue; Grief tried his love, and pain; It felt life's surges break, How can we sorrow more? Lo, through its leafy screen, Here let his body rest, Smooth his uncurtained bed; Fold the green turf aright And plant a clear white stone Here let him sleeping lie, Naushon, September 22, 1858. [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |