Ah! his hand will nevermore Turn their storied pages o'er;
Nevermore his lips repeat Songs of theirs, however sweet.
Let the lifeless body rest! He is gone, who was its guest;
Gone, as travellers haste to leave An inn, nor tarry until eve.
Traveller! in what realms afar, In what planet, in what star,
In what vast, aerial space, Shines the light upon thy face?
In what gardens of delight Rest thy weary feet to-night?
Poet! thou, whose latest verse Was a garland on thy hearse;
Thou hast sung, with organ tone, In Deukalion's life, thine own;
On the ruins of the Past Blooms the perfect flower at last.