In Highgate Cemetery

FAR-SPREAD below doth London wear

  Its cloud by day, its fire by night,—

Yet scarce with heavenly presence there

  Shrined in the smoke or pallid light.

Incessant troops from that vast throng

  Withdraw to silent colonies;

Where houses, lo! are fair and strong,

  Though ruins all that dwell in these.

Yet, ’neath the universal sky

  Bright children here too run and sing,

Calm verdure waxes green and high,

  And grave-side roses smell of spring.