Of winter yet I’ll not refuse to sing,
Thus to be followed by eternal spring.
Leigh Richmond.
What is the Grave of Pride? Is it to lie
’Neath sculptured marble, where the night-winds sigh
Through solemn arches, and ’mid pillars tall,
The while the pallid moonbeams coldly fall
On shrine, and urn, and “animated bust,”
The vain memorials all of “dust to dust?”