The Dove, On Silver Pinions, Winged Her

When The Good Man Yields His Breath (for The Good Man Never Dies).

Joys Too Exquisite To Last, And Yet More Exquisite When Past.

Bliss In Possession Will Not Last; Remembered Joys Are Never Past.

Here Hyacinths Of Heavenly Blue, Shook Their Rich Tresses To The Morn.

Gashed With Honourable Scars,low In Glory's Lap They Lie;though They Fell, They Fell Like Stars,streaming Splendour Through The Sky.