“Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
. . .
He gain’d from Heav’n (’twas all he wish’d) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.”
— Thomas Gray, “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”
“He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.”
— W. H. Auden, “Funeral Blues”
You are not forgotten, my friend. While I live, you shall not die.