The Funeral Bell

One more is gone

Out of the busy throng

That tread these paths;

The church-bell tolls,

Its sad knell rolls

To many hearths.

Flower-bells toll not,

Their echoes roll not

Upon my ear;

There still, perchance,

That gentle spirit haunts

A fragrant bier.

Low lies the pall,

Lowly the mourners all

Their passage grope;

No sable hue

Mars the serene blue

Of heaven’s cope.

In distant dell

Faint sounds the funeral bell;

A heavenly chime;

Some poet there