Classic Poem

OBIIT 1884.

There was a time when, laureled by sweet fame,
You stood in youth's magnificence and pride,
Your glorious tones now charmed, now terrified,
And throngs attentive marveled at your name.

Then the sere autumn of existence came,
The meed of praise no longer could abide,
And to the world, estranged and cast aside,
Your artist soul no future praise could claim.

But I remember the triumphant past,
The charm and splendor of your perfect art,
When on your brow was shrined all manhood's bloom.
And, as the years pass on, I come at last
To place, while sorrow thrills me to the heart,
This humble flower of Song upon your tomb.