They rear’d their lodges in the wilderness, Or built them cells beside the shadowy sea, And there they dwelt with angels, like a dream! So they unrol… - Robert Stephen Hawker

There lies a cold corpse upon the sands Down by the rolling sea;
Close up the eyes and straighten the hands As a Christian man’s should be.Bury it deep, for the good of my soul, Six feet below the ground;
Let the sexton come and the death-bell toll And good men stand around.Lay it among the churchyard stones, Where the priest hath bless’d the clay:
I cannot leave the unburied bones, And I fain would go my way.

Waes-hael for knight and dame! O merry be their dole!
Drink-hael! in Jesu’s name We fill the tawny bowl;
But cover down the curving crest,
Mould of the Orient Lady’s breast.

We see them not—we cannot hear The music of their wing—
Yet know we that they sojourn near, The Angels of the spring!They glide along this lovely ground When the first violet grows;
Their graceful hands have just unbound The zone of yonder rose.I gather it for thy dear breast, From stain and shadow free:
That which an Angel’s touch hath blest Is meet, my love, for thee!