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Found in the garden dead in his beauty— Oh that a linnet should die in the spring! Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty, Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring. Bury him kindly, up in the corner; Bird, beast, and goldfish are sepulchred there. Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner, Waving her tail like a plume in the air. Bury him nobly—next to the donkey; Fetch the old banner, and wave it about; Bury him deeply—think of the monkey, Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out. Bury him softly—white wool around him, Kiss his poor feathers—the first kiss and last; Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him: Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast. Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty, Silent through summer, though other birds sing. Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty, Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring. |