Vii

There she lies buried; there! that ground Gated with rusty iron, where She and her stanch forefathers sleep; So old, the turf scarce shows a mound; So gray, you scarce distinguish there A headstone where the ivies creep And myrtles bloom. A wall of stone Squares it around; a place for dreams; A mossy spot of sorrow;--lone, Nay, lonelier, wilder now it seems, Though just the same: its roses waste Their petals there as oft of yore; Their placid petals, as before; Pale, pensive petals: yonder some Lie faint as puffs of foam Within the moonlight, dimly traced Beneath the boughs; some few are strown On the usurping weeds, great grown Around her tomb, on which two dead leaves lie.... Here let my sick heart break and die Amid their wiltings, on her grave, Here in her dim, old burying-ground The druid cedars guard around And roses and wild thorns. Alone She shall not lie! Ah, let me moan My life out here where rose-leaves fall, And rest by her who was my all!