And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, 150
To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies.
For, so to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise;
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where’er thy bones are hurled, 155
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide,
Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,