Threnody

I Upon your hearse this flower I lay Brief be your sleep! You shall be known When lesser men have had their day: Fame blossoms where true seed is sown, Or soon or late, let Time wound what it may. II Unvext by any dream of fame, You smiled, and bade the world pass by: But I--I turned, and saw a name Shaping itself against the sky-- White star that rose amid the battle's flame! III Brief be your sleep, for I would see Your laurels--ah, how trivial now To him must earthly laurel be Who wears the amaranth on his brow! How vain the voices of mortality!