THE MIGHTY Minstrel breathes no longer, <br />Mid mouldering ruins low he lies; <br />And death upon the braes of Yarrow <br />Has closed the Shepherd-poet’s eyes: <br /> <br />Nor has the rolling year twice measured, <br />From sign to sign, its steadfast course, <br />Since every mortal power of Coleridge <br />Was frozen at its marvellous source; <br /> <br />The ’rapt One, of the godlike forehead, <br />The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: <br />And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, <br />Has vanished from his lonely hearth. <br /> <br />Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, <br />Or waves that own no curbing hand, <br />How fast has brother followed brother, <br />From sunshine to the sunless land! <br /> <br />Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber <br />Were earlier raised, remain to hear <br />A timid voice, that asks in whispers, <br />“Who next will drop and disappear?”<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-passing-of-the-elder-bards/
