Liegewoman

You may not wear immortal leaves Nor yet go laurelled in your days, But he believes Who loves you with most intimate praise That none on earth has ever gone, In whom a cleanlier spirit shone.

You may be unremembered when Our chronicles are piled in dust: No matter than-- None ever bore a lordlier lust To know the savour sweet or sour Down to the dregs of every hour.

And this your epitaph shall be-- “Within life’s house her eager words Continually Lightened as wings of arrowy birds: She was life’s house-fellow, she knew The passion of him, soul and thew.”