Classic Poem

A bard — in days when knights had honour meet —
Who fought right nobly in the Holy Land,
Pierced through with arrows, stretched upon the sand,
His faithful followers 'gan thus intreat:
" Enclose my heart, when it hath ceased to beat,
Within the urn that from my native strand
I brought, (with many a pledge of love's sweet band),
And therein bear it to my lady sweet! "
Thus I, beloved, who thy praise have sung,
Now bleed to death, far off, thro' love's sharp pain;
My cheeks are deathly pale thro' fond regret;
And when death's veil is o'er thy minstrel flung,
This truest of all hearts receive again,
Within this sonnet's golden casket set.