Last Lines of Thomas Bailey AldrichA drowned body rises solemnly. And must, indeed, have been much happier. And not much gold. And out-betters what is best! And that is black which once was white. Asphodel, flower of Life; amaranth, flower of Death! Be cut and polished, it seems little worth. Borne to us on the winds from over seas? Drop anchors to posterity. Guarding his ashes with most lovely eyes. Has ever solved the mystery of sleep? I brought this English daisy away. Imp of Dreams, when she's asleep! In violet glooms beneath the moaning sea! Laughs in the teeth of Death. Leaves darkness all a mystery again! Let the soft south-wind waft its music here. Like coins between a dying miser's fingers. Looks down on them, and seems not sad. My sorrow cannot find a tongue. No rose has been original. Not to be crowned. One part shall live, and one decay? One waits to cut the thread. Sends Echo flying through the Memphian vale. She'd make sweet eyes at Caliban. Sleep, sleep, sleep! Slumbers young Desire. 'T is ten to one you find the girl in tears. That binds us to our destiny! That day by day untired holds up a rose. That he himself is not the host. That in unlovely earth takes root and grows. The formless thought the grace whereby it lives! The lean wolf unmolested made her lair. The robin stays! There's many another Inn in town. Thorwaldsen carved his Lion at Lucerne. Through endless avenues of drooping verse. To the poor man loss on loss. Took to his heels and ran away. Who knew not how the market prices ran. Whose only ink was tears and wine. With more of laughter in my scrip than tears. With one white lily keeping watch and ward. Wrapped to the eyes in his black wings.