With the tear-worthy four, consumption killed

With the tear-worthy four, consumption killed In youthful prime, before the nebulous mind Had its symmetric shapeliness defined, Had its transcendent destiny fulfilled— May future ages grant me gracious room, With Pollok, in the voiceless solitude Finding his holiest rapture, happiest mood; Poor White for ever poring o’er the tomb; With Keats, whose lucid fancy mounting far Saw heaven as an intenser, a more keen Redintegration of the Beauty seen And felt by all the breathers on this star; With gentle Bruce, flinging melodious blame Upon the Future for an uncompleted name.