John Bannister Tabb
John Bannister Tabb Poems
What fruit of all thy blossom shed
Remaineth unto me?
'A dream, whereon thy Fancy fed,
Shall spin anon her golden thread,
And then, of fetters free,
Arise with radiant pinions spread,
To heights of Poesy.'
A Blind Man's Epitaph
His eyes were dim; so here he lies,
Whose death came after his dim-ise.