W. W. SWAIN <br /> <br />BEHOLD--not him we knew! <br />This was the prison which his soul looked through, <br />Tender, and brave, and true. <br /> <br />His voice no more is heard; <br />And his dead name--that dear familiar word-- <br />Lies on our lips unstirred. <br /> <br />He spake with poet's tongue; <br />Living, for him the minstrel's lyre was strung: <br />He shall not die unsung. <br /> <br />Grief tried his love, and pain; <br />And the long bondage of his martyr-chain <br />Vexed his sweet soul,--in vain! <br /> <br />It felt life's surges break, <br />As, girt with stormy seas, his island lake, <br />Smiling while tempests wake. <br /> <br />How can we sorrow more? <br />Grieve not for him whose heart had gone before <br />To that untrodden shore! <br /> <br />Lo, through its leafy screen, <br />A gleam of sunlight on a ring of green, <br />Untrodden, half unseen! <br /> <br />Here let his body rest, <br />Where the calm shadows that his soul loved best <br />May slide above his breast. <br /> <br />Smooth his uncurtained bed; <br />And if some natural tears are softly shed, <br />It is not for the dead. <br /> <br />Fold the green turf aright <br />For the long hours before the morning's light, <br />And say the last Good Night! <br /> <br />And plant a clear white stone <br />Close by those mounds which hold his loved, his own,-- <br />Lonely, but not alone. <br /> <br />Here let him sleeping lie, <br />Till Heaven's bright watchers slumber in the sky <br />And Death himself shall die!<br /><br />Oliver Wendell Holmes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-last-look/
