DIRGE

What shall her silence keep

Under the sun?

Here, where the willows weep

And waters run;

Here, where she lies asleep,

And all is done.

Lights, when the tree-top swings;

Scents that are sown;

Sounds of the wood-bird's wings;

And the bee's drone:

These be her comfortings

Under the stone.

What shall watch o'er her here

When day is fled?

Here, when the night is near

And skies are red;

Here, where she lieth dear

And young and dead.

Shadows, and winds that spill

Dew; and the tune

Of the wild whippoorwill;

And the white moon;

These be the watchers still

Over her stone.