Classic Poem

I saw him dead, a leaden slumber lies,
And mortal sleep, over those wakeful eyes:
Those gentle rays under the lids were fled,
Which through his looks that piercing sweetness shed;
That port which so majestic was and strong,
Loose and depriv'd of vigour, stretch'd along:
All wither'd, all discolour'd, pale and wan,
How much another thing, no more than man?
Oh human glory, vain, Oh death, oh wings,
Oh worthless world, Oh transitory things!
Yet dwelt that greatness in his shape decay'd
That still though dead, greater than death he lay'd;
And in his alter'd face you something fain
That threatens death he yet will live again . . .