Poem for March 8, 2024

When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead,

This with'ring heart, this faded form shall sleep;

When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep,

And earth's cold lap receive this fev'rish head;

Envy shall turn away, a tear to shed,

And Time's obliterating pinions sweep

The spot, where poets shall their vigils keep,

To mourn and wander near my freezing bed!

Then, my pale ghost, upon th' Elysian shore,

Shall smile, releas'd from ev'ry mortal care;

Whil, doom'd love's victim to repine no more,

My breast shall bathe in endless rapture there!

Ah! no!my restless shade would still deplore,

Nor taste that bliss, which Phaon did not share.