Classic Poem

When the white feet of afternoon
Were on the shining meads
I wrote this nasty little book
That no-one ever reads.

The humblest names have caused to flow
The tears of sympathy
Men wept for James and Sarah Green
But no-one weeps for me.

“Silent and damned” the cryptic line
O'er which we pored and crammed
They may be silent if they like,
I will be merely damned.