Classic Poem

I flushed for shame,—I thought about his grave:
No loved ones watch his mound with tender sighs
No place on earth for him who for us dies—
Our patriot Sailor! Ah, how deck the brave
Who slowly sink to some dim ocean cave!
O where shall love, looking through Memory's eye
Strew flowers for him—for him who, drifting, lie
Whelmed in the dark unfathomable wave?

Take heart! our Sailors gone—that silent host
Far from our sight—rest not ungarlandèd;
The Daughters of the West, each year in May,
In tribute, far along the Golden Coast,
Scatter fresh roses on the glorious Bay,
And Ocean garlands every hero's head!