Henry Howard Brownell
Thomas Bailey Aldrich 1836 (Portsmouth) – 1907 (Boston)
They never crowned him, never dreamed his worth,
And let him go unlaurelled to the grave:
Hereafter there are guerdons for the brave,
Roses for martyrs who wear thorns on earth,
Balms for bruised hearts that languish in the dearth
Of human love. So let the grasses wave
Above him nameless. Little did he crave
Men's praises: modestly, with kindly mirth,
Not sad nor bitter, he accepted fate --
Drank deep of life, knew books, and hearts of men,
Cities and camps, and war's immortal woe,
Yet bore through all (such virtue in him sate
His spirit is not whiter now than then)
A simple, loyal nature, pure as snow.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 34 sec read
- 48 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABBAABBACDECDE |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 618 |
Words | 112 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 14 |
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"Henry Howard Brownell" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Mar. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/36042/henry-howard-brownell>.
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