The Death
of the
Duke of Clarence and Avondale

To the Mourners

The bridal garland falls upon the bier,1
The shadow of a crown, that o’er him hung,2
Has vanish’d in the shadow cast by Death.3
So princely, tender, truthful, reverent, pure—4
Mourn !  That a world-wide Empire mourns
with you,
That all the Thrones are clouded by your loss,6
Were slender solace. Yet be comforted ;7
For if this earth be ruled by Perfect Love,8
Then, after his brief range of blameless days,9
The toll of funeral in an Angel ear10
Sounds happier than the merriest marriage-bell.11
The face of Death is toward the Sun of Life,12
His shadow darkens earth : his truer name13
Is ‘ Onward,’ no discordance in the roll14
And march of that Eternal Harmony15
Whereto the worlds beat time, tho’ faintly
Until the great Hereafter. Mourn in hope !17