Of future feasts, when Mrs. Cloudesley Shove
Will still recall lamented Cloudesley.Still
Among the moonlit cedars Philomel
Calls back to mind, again, again,
The ancient pain, the everlasting pain;
And still inveterately the haunted air
Remembers and foretells that roses were
Red and to-morrow will again be red,
But, “Cloudesley, Cloudesley!” Philomel in vain
Sobs on the night; for Cloudesley Shove is dead.…