Unto the heart a glowing thought ye bear;—
Why thus, where dust hath been?
Is it to show how slight
The bound that severs festivals and tombs,
Music and silence, roses and the blight,
Crowns and sepulchral glooms?
Or, when the father laid
Haply his child’s pale ashes here to sleep,
When the friend visited the cypress shade
Flowers o’er the dead to heap;