Tuesday, November 22, 2005

When I was in high school we started an underground newspaper ( which is really what blogs are like to me ) to counter the above ground school paper and because we were budding commie/no good nicks. It was called Consensus. When President Kennedy was assassinated we put out an issue of poetry that some of the staff with bigger foreheads than mine selected. This is one of those poems.


by: William Collins (1721-1759)

HOW sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there!

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