Classic Poem

Let them lie,—their day is over;
Only night and stillness be:
Let the slow rain come and bring
Brake and star-grass, speedwell, harebell,
All the fulness of the spring;
What reck I of friend and lover?
Foe by foe laid lovingly?

What are mounds of green earth, either?
What, to me, unfriendly bones
Death hath pacified and won
To a reconcilèd patience,
Though their very graves have run
In the blending earth together,
And the spider links the stones?

To the hills I wander, crying,—
Where we stood in days of old,
Stood and saw the sunset die,
Watched through tears the passing purple,—
“Oh, my darling, misery
Has been mine; but thou wert lying
In a slumber sweet and cold.”