What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labor of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?

And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year.

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If ever deed of honour did thee please, Guard them, and him within pr…

The whole Earth is the Sepulchre of famous men; and their story is not graven only on Stone over their native earth, but lives on far away, without visible sym…

It is tragic that we have lost one of our nation's finest actors in the prime of his life. Heath Ledger's diverse and challenging roles will be remembered as s…

There is something about a poet which leads us to believe that he died, in many cases, as long as 20 years before his birth.