Poem by Henry Kirke White

Lines Written in Wilford Churchyard on Recovery from Sickness

HERE would I wish to sleep. This is the spot
Which I have long marked out to lay my bones in;
Tired out and wearied with the riotous world,
Beneath this yew I would be sepulchred.
It is a lovely spot! the sultry sun,
From his meridian height, endeavors vainly
To pierce the shadowy foliage, while the zephyr
Comes wafting gently o’er the rippling Trent,
And plays about my wan cheek. ’T is a nook
Most pleasant. Such a one perchance did Gray
Frequent, as with the vagrant muse he wantoned.
Come, I will sit me down and meditate,
For I am wearied with my summer’s walk,
And here I may repose in silent ease;
And thus, perchance, when life’s sad journey ’s o’er,
My harassed soul in this same spot may find
The haven of its rest,—beneath this sod
Perchance may sleep it sweetly, sound as death.

1. I'm Pleased and Yet I'm Sad
2. The Trent
3. The Prostitute
4. My Own Character
5. Description of a Summer’s Eve

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