John Bannister Tabb

 Next Poem          

I died at sea; and homeward bound,
I journey half the world around
To rest where native dust is found.

'Tis strange, if dust be dust, that I
E'en now to dust returning, sigh
As dust with kindred dust to lie.

But haply, as from sire to son,
From son to sire emotions run
That make the lineal current one.

Next Poem 

 Back to John Bannister Tabb