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Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Elegy, Imitated From One Of Akenside`s Blank-Verse Inscriptions
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Near the lone pile with ivy overspread,
  Fast by the rivulet`s sleep-persuading sound,
Where `sleeps the moonlight` on yon verdant bed--
  O humbly press that consecrated ground!

For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain!
  And there his spirit most delights to rove:
Young Edmund! famed for each harmonious strain,
  And the sore wounds of ill-requited love.

Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide,
  And loads the west wind with its soft perfume,
His manhood blossomed: till the faithless pride
  Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.

But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue!
  Where`er with wildered step she wandered pale,
Still Edmund`s image rose to blast her view,
  Still Edmund`s voice accused her in each gale.

With keen regret, and conscious guilt`s alarms,
  Amid the pomp of affluence she pined;
Nor all that lured her faith from Edmund`s arms
  Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind.

Go, Traveller!  tell the tale with sorrow fraught:
  Some tearful maid perchance, or blooming youth,
May hold it in remembrance; and be taught
  That riches cannot pay for Love or Truth.
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