Nor empty are the honours that we pay <br />To the departed; our own hearts are fill'd <br />Brimfull with grateful reminiscences; <br />Compassion is excited; the most stern <br />Relent; and better even the best return. <br />Such, Teresita, were my thoughts, all day, <br />All night, when thou wert carried to thy home <br />Eternal, amid tears thou couldst not share, <br />Thither where none, not even of joy, are shed. <br />Surrounded with God's own serenity <br />Is that pure brow rais'd humbly to his throne. <br />Leaving thy home and those most dear awhile, <br />Thou, a few months before, wouldst have consoled <br />My sufferings: Who shall now console thy sire's? <br />Proud not of victories won in southern climes <br />And equal laws administer'd, but proud <br />Of virtues he implanted in his child.<br /><br />Walter Savage Landor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-lady-charles-beauclerc-s-death/
