•   when the grass shall cover me,
    Head to foot where I am lying;
        When not any wind that blows,
        Summer blooms nor winter snows,
    Shall awake me to your sighing:
        Close above me as you pass,
        You will say, “How kind she was,”
        You will say, “How true she was,”
      When the grass grows over me.

      When the grass...

  • We Cover Thee — Sweet Face —

    Not that We tire of Thee —

    But that Thyself fatigue of Us —

    Remember — as Thou go —

    We follow Thee until

    Thou notice Us — no more —

    And then — reluctant — turn away

    To Con Thee o'er and o'er —


    And blame the scanty love

    We were Content...