Classic Poem

A wreath of roses hung upon a stone,
Above me, this alone.

A sob that floats, and falling tear on tear
Descending here.

Some soul in sorrow kneeling at the tomb,
And in the gloom,

Pouring above me to the silent air
Its deep despair.

Though cold the pulseless clay and deaf the ear,
Yet I shall hear.

Though the thick shadows endlessly shall flow,
Still shall I know.

Though from the dumb, dead tenement in flight
Wing life and light,

Yet not deserted lies the silent clay,
For Love shall stay.

Crumble the stone and in the dust shall lie,
Yet Love not die.

Through the long night when the dark shadows creep,
Not even sleep,

But whisper from the silence of the bier:
" Lo! I am here. "