What tho' no sculptur'd monument proclaim <br /> Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear <br />Inshrin'd the sad remembrance; yet thy name <br /> Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR <br />The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart, <br /> Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn <br />Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart, <br /> And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn, <br />And the dark spectre of departed JOY <br /> Inhuman MEMORY. Often on thy grave <br />Love I the solitary hour to employ <br />Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh <br /> Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave <br />Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.<br /><br />Robert Southey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-04-4/
