With mute caresses shall declare
The tenderness they cannot speak.
And some who walk in calmness here,
Shall shudder as they reach the door
Where one who made their dwelling dear,
Its flower, its light, is seen no more.
Youth, with pale cheek and tender frame,
And dreams of greatness in thine eye,
Go’st thou to build an early name,
Or early in the task to die?