Classic Poem

Roses and lilies grow above the place
Where she sleeps the long sleep that doth not dream.
If we could look upon her hidden face
Nor shadow would be there nor garish gleam
Of light: her life is lapsing like a stream
That makes no noise but floweth on apace
Seawards; while many a shade and shady beam
Vary the ripples in their gliding chase.
She doth not see, but knows: she doth not feel,
And yet is sensible: she hears no sound,
Yet counts the flight of time and doth not err.
Peace far and near; peace to ourselves and her:
Her body is at peace in holy ground,
Her spirit is at peace where Angels kneel.