  Because you passed, and now are not,— Because in some remoter day Your sacred dust from doubtful spot Was blown of ancient airs away,— Because you perished,—must men say Your deeds were naught, and so profane Your lives with that cold burden? Nay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain! Though, it may be above the plot That hid your once imperial clay, No greener than o’er men forgot The unregarded grasses sway,— Though there no sweeter is the lay Without distinction of decay,— The deeds you wrought are not in vain! No. For while yet in tower or cot Your story stirs the pulse’s play; And men forget the sordid lot— The sordid care, of cities gray;— While yet, beset in homelier fray, They learn from you the lesson plain That life may go, so Honor stay,— The deeds you wrought are not in vain! Envoy Heroes of old! I humbly lay The laurel on your graves again; Whatever men have done, men may,— The deeds you wrought are not in vain! Austin Dobson. |
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