AN EPITAPH

Here lies a most beautiful lady,

Light of step and heart was she:

I think she was the most beautiful lady

That ever was in the West Country.

But beauty vanishes; beauty passes;

However rare--rare it be;

And when I crumble who will remember

This lady of the West Country?

A Cluster of Grapes A Book of Twentieth Century Poetry · 第 27 / 119 题