The Funeral Bell

One more is gone Out of the busy throng That tread these paths; The church-bell tolls, Its sad knell rolls To many hearths.

Flower-bells toll not, Their echoes roll not Upon my ear; There still perchance That gentle spirit haunts A fragrant bier.

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.