Epitaphs for the not Quite Dead

Owlish Aldous in his shroud is furled
And gathered away to a brave new world:
Remember how he used to play
Point counter point in the antic bay?
And solemnly repeat his lessons,
Ends and means and ape and essence?
Shall we ever see "feelies" at the King's or the Plaza?
Or shall we all be eyeless in Gaza?

Six feet beneath this verdant sod
Is all that's not en route to God
Of what was once the earthly sbell
Of Grimey Greene, the scourge of bell.
He who laboured long by Shock
To try to brighten Peter's rock,
Who knew a thing unknown to man—
A really quiet American—
He left the world of clash and clatter
To seek the real heart of the matter.
Write "finis" to his latest story
And "Amen" to his power and glory.