To that high Capital, where kingly Death Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came.

Most musical of mourners, weep again!

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise! She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

Till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!

Half-buried to her flaming breast In this bright tree, she makes her nest, Hundred-sunned Phoenix! when she must Crumble at length to hoary dust!

He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled,- The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, Before decay's effa…

And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds, His belly close to ground. I see the blade, Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade