Of weeping cherubs on the stone shall rise;
Tears, true as those which, ere she found her grave,
The noble Lady to our sorrows gave.”
Down by the church-way walk, and where the brook
Winds round the chancel like a shepherd’s crook;
In that small house, with those green pales before,
Where jasmine trails on either side the door;
Where those dark shrubs, that now grow wild at will,
Were clipped in form and tantalised with skill;
Where cockles blanch’d and pebbles neatly spread,