Poem – To A Dead Poet

I knew not if to laugh or weep;
They sat and talked of you–

“‘Twas here he sat; ’twas this he said!

‘Twas that he used to do. 
“Here is the book wherein he read,

The room wherein he dwelt;

And he” (they said) “was such a man,

Such things he thought and felt.”
I sat and sat, I did not stir;

They talked and talked away.

I was as mute as any stone,

I had no word to say.
They talked and talked; like to a stone

My heart grew in my breast–

I, who had never seen your face

Perhaps I knew you best.