At the funeral of Thomas Paine, his landlady speaks
Greyly rains sink in the low sandy hole. Deep-blue-dappled were the lively eyes of him Who, loud about the house, piggybacked my Pym,-- Old Tom laid by like a lamp-man's pole. Greyly rains sink in an evening nearly come. His light is out who lit the world awake, Who took on darkness for our sake--for our sake Crossed sharp words to press the crisis home. Faint lights around the world brighten in the pale. Tindered words fired like a shot in 'Common Sense,' Words to make frail hearts burn the more intense That our infant crucible might not fail. We bury him--those two black lads prayerfully by-- Who know the worth of him we eulogize In grey rains warm as unwiped eyes; Beside the battered box, few mourners; none to cry. Words like torches gathered Shine on the coffin's grain; In the eyes about, a light Inextinguishable by night.