Classic Poem

At night among the churchyard thistles
The boy with feigned bravado whistles;
And minor chords when Omar sings
Betray his path's environings,
And show, however brave their tread
Our footsteps lead but to the dead.

As flow'ry meads delight the eye
Though, 'neath their grasses, serpents lie,
His jubilees, with rapture fair,
Conceal a dreg-note of despair.
The cold stars glisten in his rhymes,
To mock their muffled funeral chimes.