Dirge

What shall her dreaming keep Under the sun? Here where the willows weep And waters run; Here where she lies asleep And all is done.

Lights, when the tree-top swings; Scents that are blown; Sounds of the wood-bird’s wings; And the bee’s drone; These be her comfortings Round her headstone.

What shall watch o’er her here When day is fled? Here when the night is near And skies are red; Here where she lieth dear And young and dead.

Shadows, and winds that spill Dew; and the rune Of the wild whippoorwill; And the white moon; These be the watchers still Round her headstone.