Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
Thomas William Parsons 18191892
Thomas William Parsons143 Her Epitaph
T
Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul,
That, when she died, all recognized her birth,
And had their sorrow in serene control.
The wintry wind seemed whispering round her bier; And when the tomb-door opened, with a start We heard it echoed from within,—“Not here!” Note in these flowers a delicater hue, Should spring come earlier to this hallowed grass, Or the bee later linger on the dew,— Such sweetness, grace, as only goodness can; That even her dust, and this her monument, Have yet a spell to stay one lonely man,— When what is mortal of himself shall sleep, When human passion shall have passed away, And Love no longer be a thing to weep.