ONCE from the world of living men <br /> I passed, by a strange fancy led, <br /> To a still City of the Dead, <br />To call upon a citizen. <br />He had been famous in his day; <br /> Much talked of, written of, and praised <br /> For virtues my small soul amazed— <br />And yet I thought his heart was clay. <br /> <br />He was too full of grace for me: <br /> His friends said, on a marble stone, <br /> His soul sat somewhere near the Throne <br />I did not know; I called to see. <br /> <br />His name and fame were on the door— <br /> A most superior tomb indeed, <br /> Much railed, and gilt, and filigreed; <br />He occupied the lower floor. <br /> <br />I knocked—a worm crawled from its hole: <br />I looked—and knew it for his soul.<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-soul/
