George Crabbe

The face the index of a feeling mind.

The face the index of a feeling mind.

But monument themselves memorials need.

But monument themselves memorials need.

Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart.

Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart.

All green was vanished save of pine and yew,
That still displayed their melancholy hue;
Save the read more

All green was vanished save of pine and yew,
That still displayed their melancholy hue;
Save the green holly with its berries red,
And the green moss that o'er the gravel spread.

Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead:
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Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead:
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own.