V. In a Burying Ground

This is the spot where I will lie

When life has had enough of me,

These are the grasses that will blow

Above me like a living sea.

These gay old lilies will not shrink

To draw their life from death of mine,

And I will give my body's fire

To make blue flowers on this vine.

“O Soul,” I said, “have you no tears?

Was not the body dear to you?”

I heard my soul say carelessly,

“The myrtle flowers will grow more blue.”