In Death Divided

   I shall rot here, with those whom in their day
     You never knew,
   And alien ones who, ere they chilled to clay,
     Met not my view,
Will in your distant grave-place ever neighbour you.

   No shade of pinnacle or tree or tower,
     While earth endures,
   Will fall on my mound and within the hour
     Steal on to yours;
One robin never haunt our two green covertures.

   Some organ may resound on Sunday noons
     By where you lie,
   Some other thrill the panes with other tunes
     Where moulder I;
No selfsame chords compose our common lullaby.

   The simply-cut memorial at my head
     Perhaps may take
   A Gothic form, and that above your bed
     Be Greek in make;
No linking symbol show thereon for our tale's sake.

   And in the monotonous moils of strained, hard-run
   The eternal tie which binds us twain in one
     No eye will see
Stretching across the miles that sever you from me.

No comments: