Classic Poem

I stood within the city of the dead
And walked awhile among the little coombs,
The winds of dawn were waking as I read
The legends on the tombs.

Here was the mausoleum of a priest,
Here were the graves of those who fought and bled,
And here lay one who builded West and East—
His was a splendid bed.

But only one it was that made me pause—
A granite slab scarce two feet high and wide,
Hidden away, because its owner was
A common suicide.

And there I sat, and wondered why he died,
And watched the weary stars grow dull and dim;
And how I yearned to have him at my side
To sit and talk with him …