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Charles Dickens - Little Nell`s Funeral
Work rating: Medium

And now the bell, — the bell 
She had so often heard by night and day 
   And listened to with solemn pleasure, 
         E`en as a living voice, — 
Rung its remorseless toll for her, 
   So young, so beautiful, so good. 

   Decrepit age, and vigorous life, 
And blooming youth, and helpless infancy, 
   Poured forth, — on crutches, in the pride of strength 
         And health, in the full blush 
         Of promise, the mere dawn of life, — 
To gather round her tomb. Old men were there, 
         Whose eyes were dim 
         And senses failing, — 
Grandames, who might have died ten years ago, 
And still been old, — the deaf, the blind, the lame, 
         The palsied, 
The living dead in many shapes and forms, 
To see the closing of this early grave. 
   What was the death it would shut in, 
To that which still could crawl and keep above it! 

Along the crowded path they bore her now; 
         Pure as the new fallen snow 
That covered it; whose day on earth 
         Had been as fleeting. 
Under that porch, where she had sat when Heaven 
In mercy brought her to that peaceful spot, 
   She passed again, and the old church 
   Received her in its quiet shade. 

      They carried her to one old nook, 
Where she had many and many a time sat musing, 
   And laid their burden softly on the pavement. 
            The light streamed on it through 
The colored window, — a window where the boughs 
         Of trees were ever rustling 
      In the summer, and where the birds 
            Sang sweetly all day long.
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