The Tomb

Once musing o'er an old effaced stone,
Longing to know whose dust it did conceal,
I anxious ponder'd o'er what might reveal,
And sought the seeming date with weeds o'ergrown;
But that prov'd fruitless--both the date and name
Had been for ages in oblivion thrown.
The dim remains of sculptur'd ornament
Gave proof sufficient 'twas reward for fame:
This did my searching view so much torment,
That Time I question'd to expose the same;
But soon a check--"And what is it to thee
Whose dust lies here?--since thou wilt quickly be
Forgot like him:--then Time shall bid thee go
To heaven's pure bliss, or hell's tormenting woe."

John Clare The copyright of the poems published here are belong to their poets. Internetpoem.com is a non-profit poetry portal. All information in here has been published only for educational and informational purposes.