So passed the strong heroic soul
And when they buried him, the little port
Had seldom seen a costlier funeral
-- last lines of Enoch Arden (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)
Alas for the South, her books have grown fewer --
She never was much given to literature.
-- Purely Original Verse (J. Gordon Coogler)
Thy mangled corpse upon the rails in frightful shape was found.
The ponderous train had killed thee as its heavy wheels went round,
And thus in dreadful form thou met'st a drunkard's awful death
And I, thy brother, mourn thy fate, and breathe a purer breath.
-- Lines Written to a Friend on the Death of His Brother, Caused by a Railway Train
Running Over Him Whilst He Was In a State of Inebriation (James Henry Powell)
Her laugh is like sunshine, full of glee
And her sweet breath smells like fresh-made tea.
-- Dolce Far Niente (Francis Saltus Saltus)
Then all they feculent majesty recalls
The nauseous mustiness of forsaken bowers,
The leprous nudity of deserted halls --
The positive nastiness of sullied flowers.
And I mark the colours yellow and black,
The fresco thy lithe, dictatorial thighs,
I dream and wonder on my drunken back
How God could possibly have created flies!
-- The Spider (Francis Saltus Saltus)
Up to battle! Sons of Suli
Up, and do your duty duly!
There the wall -- and there the moat is:
Bouwah! Bouwah! Suliotes,
There is booty -- there is beauty!
Up my boys and do your duty!
-- Song to the Suliotes (George Gordon, Lord Byron)
Each little pimple had a tear in it,
To wail the fault its rising did commit...
Upon the Death of the Lord Hastings (John Dryden)
When longer yet dank death had wormed
The brain wherein the style had germed
From Gloucester church it flew afar --
The style called Perpendicular. --
To Winton and to Westminster
It ranged, and grew still beautifuller
The Abbey Mason (Thomas Hardy)
Sacred and sweet is the joy that must come
From the furnace of life when you've poured off the scum.
The Crucible of Life (Edgar A. Guest)
Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes,
Into the tomb the Great Queen dashes.
From an elegy for Queen Victoria by one of her subjects
all collected by X. J. Kennedy and Dana Gioia