DEATH AND NATURE

By Frederic Manning

When my poor bones are hearsed in quiet clay,

And final sleep hath sealed my wondering eyes,

The moon as now will sail through tranquil skies;

The soft wind in the meadow-grasses play;

And sacred Eve, with half-closed eyelids, dream;

And Dawn, with rosy fingers, draw the veils

Of silver from her shining face; and gales

Sing loudly; and the rain from eaveshoots stream

With bubbling music. Seek my soul in these;

I am a part of them; and they will keep

Perchance the music which I wrought with tears.

When the moon shines above the silent trees

Your eyes shall see me; and when soft as sleep

Come murmurs of the rain, ah, bend your ears!