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HOW sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there!
William Taylor Collins
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Read poems about / on: fairy, freedom, spring, sleep
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Comments about this poem (How Sleep The Brave
by
William Taylor Collins
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William Taylor Collins
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Cissy Collins
(5/1/2005 3:45:00 AM) |
moving.....very timely, appropriate to TODAY
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