The proud in heart should slumber where
Enters no sound of earthly air;
Silent, in some cathedral old,
Where shadows fall from each marble mould;
Where the colored radiance scarce can tell
Of the world he toiled for, long and well —
Where, side by side, the mighty dead
A hallowing spell from their proud tombs shed —
Where the kings of the earth to muse may come —
The Poet may find his last, long home.