Blow, Bugle, Blow
THE splendour falls on castle walls / ; And snowy summits old in story:
Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
But thou, go by.
Child, if it were thine error or thy crime
I care no longer, being all unblest:
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,
And I desire to rest.
Pass on, weak heart, and leave to where I lie:
Go by, go by.
THE splendour falls on castle walls / ; And snowy summits old in story:
When on my bed the moonlight falls, / ; ; ; ;I know that in thy place of rest
Is it, then, regret for buried time / ; ; ; ;That keenlier in sweet April wakes,
Life and Thought have gone away / Side by side,