Classic Poem

Under the churchyard elms we sit
And see the filtering sunlight flit
Through leaf-cool spaces to and fro
Where the soft, darkling waters go.

Light swallows their swift shadows try
To lure from out a nether sky,
As dip our thoughts to deeper streams,
Fain to woo forth old dreams of dreams.

Sweetly bestowed, those slumbering here
Cool Avon's tranquil bosom near,
Where the slow, soft-plumed breezes be
Within the trees of Trinity.

Meets not this haven their fondest prayer
Who, dying, prayed for peace? They share
The world's hush, and the fragrant fame
Blown round the world on wings of flame!

(And if some once wild heart be laid
Beneath this all-subduing shade,
Why, now, as fair the daisy blows
Above his rest as over those.)

This bankside's yielding lip I press
And all my hidden heart confess—
My passion, purity or stain,
I pour back to the sod again,

Claiming, from all my day-and-night,
Mine, mine, the footsore pilgrim's right,
One moment on their quiet bed,
Rested and reconciled and dead!