Classic Poem

" Here lies a Poet! " Nay! There lies a stone!
Here lies perhaps a useless, mortal frame,
An inert mass of weary dust and bone
That once hath borne a glorious singer's name.
But he, the Poet, lives, nor e'er shall pass
From out the joyous and imperishable throng
Of those who put the love of lad and lass,
The grandeur of the sea, the green of grass,
The voice of birds, the beauty of the flowers,
The happiness and peace of quiet hours,
The music of the winter-wind, the thrill
Of spring-tide, and the babbling mountain rill,
The glories all sublime of Motherhood,
And Brotherhood,
The joy of living, and the heart of man
Within the span
Of Godlike song!