At the Grave of Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Here of a truth the world's extremes are met:
Amid the gray, the moss-grown tombs of those
Who led long lives obscure till came the close
When, their calm days being done, their suns were set—
Here stands a grave, all monumentless yet,
Wrapped like the others in a deep repose
But while yon wakeful ocean ebbs and flows
It is a grave the world shall not forget,

This grave on which meek violets grow and thyme,
Summer's fair heralds; and a stranger now
Pauses to see a poet's resting-place,
But one of those who will in many a clime
On each return of this sad day avow
Fond love's regret that ne'er they saw his face.