Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — The Burial of the Poet

In the old churchyard of his native town,        &nbsp And in the ancestral tomb beside the wall,        &nbsp We laid him in the sleep that comes to all,        &nbsp And left him to his rest and his renown. The snow was falling, as if Heaven dropped down        &nbsp White flowers of Paradise to strew his pall;—        &nbsp The dead around him seemed to wake, and call        &nbsp His name, as worthy of so white a crown. And now the moon is shining on the scene,        &nbsp And the broad sheet of snow is written o'er        &nbsp With shadows cruciform of leafless trees, As once the winding-sheet of Saladin        &nbsp With chapters of the Koran; but, ah! more        &nbsp Mysterious and triumphant signs are these.