Classic Poem

All flesh is grass and so are feathers too:
Finches must die as well as I or you.
Beneath a damask rose in good old age
Here lies the tenant of a noble cage.
For forty moons he charmed his lady's ear
And piped obedient oft as she drew near,
Though now stretched out upon a clay-cold bier.
But when the last shrill flageolet shall sound
And raise all dicky-birds from holy ground
This little corpse again its wings shall prune
And sing eternally the selfsame tune
From everlasting night to everlasting noon.