Old Trinity Churchyard

A lonely graveyard lies, between high walk, Death’s quiet eddy off the roaring mart, An oasis of peace, forgot, apart, With muted strings the clamor on it falls; And ghostly mists at dawn drop down like palls, Lithe bodies creep and slip into its heart; Half-seen; half-hid; across the mounds they dart. Behold! On Beauty’s grave a gaunt cat sprawls! Beside some sage’s stone their lusts are fed— They stalk each other through the ragged grass; Snakelike they crawl where heroes long have lain; With playful paw they pat the mouldering dead. Grotesques that writhe and wail a devilish Mass— Thoughts, life-clothed; sent forth by some dead brain!