REQUIESCAT IN PACEWhite iris on thy bier,With the white rose, we strew,And lotus pale or blueAs moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.Slumber, as they that sleepIn the slow sands unknown,Or under seas that zoneWith lulling foam the sealed, extremer lands.Slumber, with songless birdsThat sang, and sang to death,Giving their gladder breathTo lonely winds in one melodious pang.Sleep, with the golden queensOf planets long forgot,Whose fire-soft lips are notRecalled by any sorcery of song.Sleep, with the flowers that were,And any leaf that fellOn field or flowerless dellIn autumns lost of memory and grief.Pass, with the music flownFrom ivory lyre, and luteOf mellow string left muteIn cities desolate ere the dream of Tyre.Pass, with the clouds that sankIn sunset turned to greyOn some Edenic dayFor which the exiled years have ever yearned.White iris on thy bier,With the white rose, we strew,And lotus pale or blueAs moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.
White iris on thy bier,With the white rose, we strew,And lotus pale or blueAs moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.Slumber, as they that sleepIn the slow sands unknown,Or under seas that zoneWith lulling foam the sealed, extremer lands.Slumber, with songless birdsThat sang, and sang to death,Giving their gladder breathTo lonely winds in one melodious pang.Sleep, with the golden queensOf planets long forgot,Whose fire-soft lips are notRecalled by any sorcery of song.Sleep, with the flowers that were,And any leaf that fellOn field or flowerless dellIn autumns lost of memory and grief.Pass, with the music flownFrom ivory lyre, and luteOf mellow string left muteIn cities desolate ere the dream of Tyre.Pass, with the clouds that sankIn sunset turned to greyOn some Edenic dayFor which the exiled years have ever yearned.
White iris on thy bier,With the white rose, we strew,And lotus pale or blueAs moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.Slumber, as they that sleepIn the slow sands unknown,Or under seas that zoneWith lulling foam the sealed, extremer lands.Slumber, with songless birdsThat sang, and sang to death,Giving their gladder breathTo lonely winds in one melodious pang.Sleep, with the golden queensOf planets long forgot,Whose fire-soft lips are notRecalled by any sorcery of song.Sleep, with the flowers that were,And any leaf that fellOn field or flowerless dellIn autumns lost of memory and grief.Pass, with the music flownFrom ivory lyre, and luteOf mellow string left muteIn cities desolate ere the dream of Tyre.Pass, with the clouds that sankIn sunset turned to greyOn some Edenic dayFor which the exiled years have ever yearned.
White iris on thy bier,With the white rose, we strew,And lotus pale or blueAs moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.
White iris on thy bier,
With the white rose, we strew,
And lotus pale or blue
As moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.
Slumber, as they that sleepIn the slow sands unknown,Or under seas that zoneWith lulling foam the sealed, extremer lands.
Slumber, as they that sleep
In the slow sands unknown,
Or under seas that zone
With lulling foam the sealed, extremer lands.
Slumber, with songless birdsThat sang, and sang to death,Giving their gladder breathTo lonely winds in one melodious pang.
Slumber, with songless birds
That sang, and sang to death,
Giving their gladder breath
To lonely winds in one melodious pang.
Sleep, with the golden queensOf planets long forgot,Whose fire-soft lips are notRecalled by any sorcery of song.
Sleep, with the golden queens
Of planets long forgot,
Whose fire-soft lips are not
Recalled by any sorcery of song.
Sleep, with the flowers that were,And any leaf that fellOn field or flowerless dellIn autumns lost of memory and grief.
Sleep, with the flowers that were,
And any leaf that fell
On field or flowerless dell
In autumns lost of memory and grief.
Pass, with the music flownFrom ivory lyre, and luteOf mellow string left muteIn cities desolate ere the dream of Tyre.
Pass, with the music flown
From ivory lyre, and lute
Of mellow string left mute
In cities desolate ere the dream of Tyre.
Pass, with the clouds that sankIn sunset turned to greyOn some Edenic dayFor which the exiled years have ever yearned.
Pass, with the clouds that sank
In sunset turned to grey
On some Edenic day
For which the exiled years have ever yearned.
White iris on thy bier,With the white rose, we strew,And lotus pale or blueAs moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.
White iris on thy bier,With the white rose, we strew,And lotus pale or blueAs moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.
White iris on thy bier,With the white rose, we strew,And lotus pale or blueAs moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.
White iris on thy bier,
With the white rose, we strew,
And lotus pale or blue
As moonlight on the orient mountain-snows.