A Poet's Epitaph

Stop, Mortal! Here thy brother lies,
The Poet of the Poor.
His books were rivers, woods, and skies,
The meadow, and the moor;
His teachers were the torn hearts' wail,
The tyrant, and the slave,
The street, the factory, the jail,
The palace - and the grave!
The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm,
He fear'd to scorn or hate;
And honour'd in a peasant's form
The equal of the great.
But if he lov'd the rich who make
The poor man's little more,
Ill could be praise the rich who take
From plunder'd labour's store.
A hand to do, a head to plan,
A heart to feel and dare -
Tell man's worst foes, here lies the man
Who drew them as they are.

Ebenezer Elliott . 1781-1849

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Poetry of Elliott

Ebenezer Elliott
born 1781, died 1849

"The Corn Law Rhymer"

Poems

A Poet's Prayer
A Poet's Epitaph
Steam
The Steam-Engine
Preston Mills

See all poems index for
Ebenezer Elliott

A Poet's Epitaph - Ebenezer Elliott - poetry, poems

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