IN DEATH DIVIDED

I shall rot here, with those whom in their day

You never knew,

And alien ones who, ere they chilled to clay,

Met not my view,

Will in your distant grave-place ever neighbour you.

No shade of pinnacle or tree or tower,

While earth endures,

Will fall on my mound and within the hour

Steal on to yours;

One robin never haunt our two green covertures.

Some organ may resound on Sunday noons

By where you lie,

Some other thrill the panes with other tunes

Where moulder I;

No selfsame chords compose our common lullaby.

The simply-cut memorial at my head

Perhaps may take

A Gothic form, and that above your bed

Be Greek in make;

No linking symbol show thereon for our tale's sake.

And in the monotonous moils of strained, hard-run

Humanity,

The eternal tie which binds us twain in one

No eye will see

Stretching across the miles that sever you from me.