Bayard Taylor by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Dead he lay among his books! / The peace of God was in his looks.

As the statues in the gloom / Watch o'er Maximilian's tomb,

So those volumes from their shelves / Watched him, silent as themselves.

Ah! his hand will nevermore / Turn their storied pages o'er;

Nevermore his lips repeat / Songs of theirs, however sweet.

Let the lifeless body rest! / He is gone, who was its guest;

Gone, as travellers haste to leave / An inn, nor tarry until eve.

Traveller! in what realms afar, / In what planet, in what star,

In what vast, aerial space, / Shines the light upon thy face?

In what gardens of delight / Rest thy weary feet to-night?

Poet! thou, whose latest verse / Was a garland on thy hearse;

Thou hast sung, with organ tone, / In Deukalion's life, thine own;

On the ruins of the Past / Blooms the perfect flower at last.

Friend! but yesterday the bells / Rang for thee their loud farewells;

And to-day they toll for thee, / Lying dead beyond the sea;

Lying dead among thy books, / The peace of God in all thy looks!