RAIN ON A GRAVE

Clouds spout upon her

Their waters amain

In ruthless disdain, -

Her who but lately

Had shivered with pain

As at touch of dishonour

If there had lit on her

So coldly, so straightly

Such arrows of rain.

She who to shelter

Her delicate head

Would quicken and quicken

Each tentative tread

If drops chanced to pelt her

That summertime spills

In dust-paven rills

When thunder-clouds thicken

And birds close their bills.

Would that I lay there

And she were housed here!

Or better, together

Were folded away there

Exposed to one weather

We both,— who would stray there

When sunny the day there,

Or evening was clear

At the prime of the year.

Soon will be growing

Green blades from her mound,

And daises be showing

Like stars on the ground,

Till she form part of them -

Ay — the sweet heart of them,

Loved beyond measure

With a child's pleasure

All her life's round.

Jan. , .