Classic Poem

And the flowers decay'd in their dismal beds,
And dropp'd off from their lean shanks one by one,
Till nothing was left but the stalks and the heads,
Clump'd into heaps, or ripp'd into shreds,
To steam into salt in the sickly sun.
And the cattle low'd late up the glimmering plain,
Or dipp'd knee-deep, and splash'd themselves
In the pools spat out by the spiteful main,
Wallowing in sandy dykes and delves:
And the blear-eyed filmy sea did bloom
With his old mysterious hungering sound:
And the wet wind wail'd in the chinks of the tomb,
Till the weeds in the surf were drench'd and drown'd.
And the Earl, as years went by, and his life
Grew listless, took him another wife.
But once a stranger came over the wave,
And paused by the pale-faced Lady's grave.