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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472434" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>H. C. M. H. S. J. K. W.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE dirge is played, the throbbing death-peal rung,<br>The sad-voiced requiem sung;<br>On each white urn where memory dwells<br>The wreath of rustling immortelles<br>Our loving hands have hung,<br>And balmiest leaves have strown and tenderest blossoms flung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The birds that filled the air with songs have flown,<br>The wintry blasts have blown,<br>And these for whom the voice of spring<br>Bade the sweet choirs their carols sing<br>Sleep in those chambers lone<br>Where snows untrodden lie, unheard the night-winds moan.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We clasp them all in memory, as the vine<br>Whose running stems intwine<br>The marble shaft, and steal around<br>The lowly stone, the nameless mound;<br>With sorrowing hearts resign<br>Our brothers true and tried, and close our broken line.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How fast the lamps of life grow dim and die<br>Beneath our sunset sky!<br>Still fading, as along our track<br>We cast our saddened glances back,<br>And while we vainly sigh<br>The shadowy day recedes, the starry night draws nigh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As when from pier to pier across the tide<br>With even keel we glide,<br>The lights we left along the shore<br>Grow less and less, while more, yet more<br>New vistas open wide<br>Of fair illumined streets and casements golden-eyed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each closing circle of our sunlit sphere<br>Seems to bring heaven more near<br>Can we not dream that those we love<br>Are listening in the world above<br>And smiling as they hear<br>The voices known so well of friends that still are dear?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Does all that made us human fade away<br>With this dissolving clay?<br>Nay, rather deem the blessed isles<br>Are bright and gay with joyous smiles,<br>That angels have their play,<br>And saints that tire of song may claim their holiday.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All else of earth may perish; love alone<br>Not heaven shall find outgrown!<br>Are they not here, our spirit guests,<br>With love still throbbing in their breasts?<br>Once more let flowers be strown.<br>Welcome, ye shadowy forms, we count you still our own!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472434" data-title="H. C. M. H. S. J. K. W. de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="THE dirge is played, the throbbing death-peal rung,
The sad-voiced requiem sung;
On each white urn where memory dwells
The wreath of rustling immortelles
Our loving hands have hung,
And balmiest leaves have strown and tenderest blossoms flung.

Th..."></div>
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