Now let no passing-bell be tolled, <br />Wail now no dirge of gloom; <br />Nor around purple pall unfold <br />The trappings of the tomb! <br />Dead? No, the Artist doth not die; <br />Enduring as the air, the sky, <br />He sees the mortal years roll by, <br />Indifferent to their doom. <br /> <br />With the abiding He abides, <br />Eternally the same; <br />From shore to shore Time's sounding tides <br />Roll and repeat His name. <br />Death, the kind pilot, from His home <br />But speeds Him unto widening foam, <br />Then leaves Him, sunk from sight, to roam <br />The ocean of his Fame. <br /> <br />Nor thus himself alone He lives, <br />But, by the magic known <br />To His ``so potent art,'' He gives <br />Life lasting as His own. <br />See, on the canvas, foiling Fate, <br />With kindling gaze and flashing gait, <br />Dead Statesmen still defend the State, <br />And vindicate the Throne. <br /> <br />Stayed by His hand, the loved, the lost, <br />Still keep their wonted place; <br />And, fondly fooled, our hearts accost <br />The vanished form and face. <br />Beauty, most frail of earthly shows, <br />That fades as fleetly as it blows, <br />By Him arrested, gleams and glows <br />With never-waning grace. <br /> <br />His, too, the wizard power to bring, <br />When city-pent we be, <br />The matron Autumn, maiden Spring, <br />Bracken and birchen-tree. <br />Look, 'twixt gray boulders fringed with fern, <br />The tawny torrents chafe and churn, <br />And, lined with light, the amber burn <br />Goes bounding to the sea. <br /> <br />Toll then for Him no funeral knell, <br />Nor around aisle and nave <br />Let sorrow's farewell anthem swell, <br />Nor solemn symbols wave. <br />Your very brightest banners bring, <br />Your gayest flowers! Sing, voices, sing! <br />And let Fame's lofty joybells ring <br />Their greeting at His grave!<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-everett-millais/
