And now, dear friend, farewell to thee! Thine eyes
Have death’s inviolate seal upon their lids;
They cannot see the Season’s glorious shows,
Although, methinks, in memory of thee
The grass grows greener here, and tenderer
The daily benediction of the sun
Falls on thy grave, as if thy very dust
Had sentience still, and, kindling into life
Under the fiery touchings of the sun,
Broke through the turfy barriers of the tomb