David Given Schwarm

      Nor let us weep that our delight is fled
       Far from these carrion kites that scream below;
       He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead;
       Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now.
       Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow
       Back to the burning fountain whence it came,
       A portion of the Eternal, which must glow
       Through time and change, unquenchably the same,
Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.