Page:Poems of nature, Thoreau, 1895.djvu/87

Rh 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

Weaves the light-burthened air

Into sweet rhyme.