But the Poet has a theory, which we have all more or less adopted, and which he generally expresses by the words, ‘Cheerfulness is the most serviceable form of human charity’; and he never, if he can prevent it, permits us to linger over-long in the fruitless gloom of sentimental sorrow. I think that was why, on the fourth evening after we had strewn the roses on Ilaria’s grave, he recited to us, uninvited,—an unusual thing with him,—the following consolatory lines:—
WHEN I AM GONE
When I am gone, I pray you shed
No tears upon the grassy bed
Where that which you have loved is laid
Under the wind-warped yew-tree’s shade.
And let no sombre pomp prepare
My unreturning journey there,
Nor wailing words nor dirges deep
Disturb the quiet of my sleep;