Thus spake his dust (so seemed it as I read <br />The words): Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare <br />(Poor ghost!) To digg the dust enclosèd heare -- <br />Then came the malediction on the head <br />Of whoso dare disturb the sacred dead. <br />Outside the mavis whistled strong and clear, <br />The winding Avon murmured in its bed, <br />But in the solemn Stratford church the air <br />Was chill and dank, and on the foot-worn tomb <br />The evening shadows deepened momently. <br />Then a great awe fell on me, standing there, <br />As if some speechless presence in the gloom <br />Was hovering, and fain would speak with me.<br /><br />Thomas Bailey Aldrich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-stratford-upon-avon/
