Poems (Eckley)/Keat's Grave
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READ softly, Stranger, o'er this lowly grave,
Speak gently, Poet, o'er the hallowed dead,
For tender flowers evermore should wave;
So trample not the grass with heedless tread,
Lest crushed some "daisy" hidden in the turf—
So coral in the caves of ocean made,
Oft-times floats upward, borne upon the surf,
Then hides beneath the glitt'ring sands to fade.
O softly tread, no hidden bud be broken,
That breathes its faint scent o'er the Poet's dust—
In sacred memory, in tender token,
Leave still the "daisies growing" in God's own trust,
In memory of a Love that never fades,
But buds and blossoms in the gloomiest shades.
KEAT'S GRAVE.
ROME."I feel the daisies growing over me."
READ softly, Stranger, o'er this lowly grave,Speak gently, Poet, o'er the hallowed dead,
For tender flowers evermore should wave;
So trample not the grass with heedless tread,
Lest crushed some "daisy" hidden in the turf—
So coral in the caves of ocean made,
Oft-times floats upward, borne upon the surf,
Then hides beneath the glitt'ring sands to fade.
O softly tread, no hidden bud be broken,
That breathes its faint scent o'er the Poet's dust—
In sacred memory, in tender token,
Leave still the "daisies growing" in God's own trust,
In memory of a Love that never fades,
But buds and blossoms in the gloomiest shades.