Classic Poem

So long as these “familiar faces” last,
So long as in our childhood's home we dwell,
So long as of two generations past,
Grandsire, and sire, the honoured beacons, tell,
Of outposts to our being's citadel,
That should, according to the likeliest chance,
Lapsing themselves, our latest lapse foretel,
So long at death we cast incredulous glance,
Or dream of it as of an insubstantial trance.