Wordsworth's Grave

The Rothay's stream is running near,
Its voice is very glad and clear,
The voice that was to him so dear;
But the poet doth not hear.

All around his dwelling rise,
With their gray heads in the skies,
The noble hills that made him wise;
But he doth not ope his eyes.

From the little church the hum
Of his old friends' prayers doth come,
As is most fit, unto his tomb;
But the godlike lips are dumb.

What and if he deaf doth lie?
What and if he ope not eye?
If death that tuneful tongue doth tie?
With God and us such ne'er can die.