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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341669" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memoriam A. H. H.: 39. Old warder of these buried bones</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341669" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Old warder of these buried bones,<br> And answering now my random stroke<br> With fruitful cloud and living smoke,<br> Dark yew, that graspest at the stones<br> And dippest toward the dreamless head,<br> To thee too comes the golden hour<br> When flower is feeling after flower;<br> But Sorrow--fixt upon the dead,<br> And darkening the dark graves of men,--<br> What whisper'd from her lying lips?<br> Thy gloom is kindled at the tips,<br> And passes into gloom again.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Alfred+Lord+Tennyson">Alfred Lord Tennyson</a></strong></div>

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