Dirge

Boys that held him dear,
Do your weeping now,
All you loved of him lies here,
Do your weeping now.

Brought to earth the arrogant brow,
And the withering tongue,
Do your weeping now.

Sing whatever songs are sung,
Wind whatever wreath,
For a playmate perished young,
For a spirit who’s spent in death.

Boys that held him dear,
Do your weeping now,
All you loved of him lies here,
Do your weeping now.