Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — In the Churchyard at Tarrytown

Here lies the gentle humorist, who died        &nbsp In the bright Indian Summer of his fame!        &nbsp A simple stone, with but a date and name,        &nbsp Marks his secluded resting-place beside The river that he loved and glorified.        &nbsp Here in the autumn of his days he came,        &nbsp But the dry leaves of life were all aflame        &nbsp With tints that brightened and were multiplied. How sweet a life was his; how sweet a death!        &nbsp Living, to wing with mirth the weary hours,        &nbsp Or with romantic tales the heart to cheer; Dying, to leave a memory like the breath        &nbsp Of summers full of sunshine and of showers,        &nbsp A grief and gladness in the atmosphere.