Part 2: Poem related to My Antonia.
In the Churchyard of Tarrytown
Here lies the gentle humorist, who died
In the bright Indian Summer of his fame!
A simple stone with but a date and name,
Marks his secluded resting place beside
The river that he loved and glorified.
Here in the autumn of his days he came,
But the dry leaves of life were all aflame
With tints that brightened and were multipied.
How sweet a life was his; how sweet a death!
Living, to wing with mirth the weary hours,
Or with romantic tales the heart to cheer;
Dying, to leave a memory like the breath
Of summers full of sunshine and of showers,
A grief and gladness in the atmosphere.
By: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
I chose this poem to be related to My Antonia because it reminded me of something that Jim’s grandfather of Antonia might have been said at Mr. Shirmada’s funeral. Some of the information is even correct about Mr. Shirmada. He was a humorist, he had a sweet life, he had many weary hours, and he will be missed by many.
