STANCHEZZA.
Reading edition
EARLY LINES
Lo Zephyr floats, on pinions delicate, Past the dark belfry, where a deep-toned bell Sways back and forth, Grief tolling out the knell For thee, my friend, so young and yet so great. Dead—thou art dead. The destiny of men Is ever thus, like waves upon the main To rise, grow great, fall with a crash and wane, While still another grows to wane again, Dead—thou art dead. Would that I too were gone And that the grass which rustles on thy grave Might also over mine forever wave Made living by the death it grew upon. I ask not Orpheus-like, that Pluto give Thy soul to earth. I would not have thee live.