Minor Poet eBook

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. To a Dead Poet.

I knew not if to laugh or weep;
They sat and talked of you -
'Twas here he sat; 'twas this he said!
'Twas that he used to do.

Here is the book wherein he read,
The room wherein he dwelt;
And he (they said) was such a man,
Such things he thought and felt.

I sat and sat, I did not stir;
They talked and talked away.
I was as mute as any stone,
T had no word to say.

They talked and talked; like to a stone
My heart grew in my breast -
I, who had never seen your face
Perhaps I knew you best.