26.01.2019, 11:14
GRASS-GROWN.
GRASS grows at last above all graves, you say ?
Why, therein lies the sharpest sting of all !
To think that stars will rise and dews will fall,
Hills flush with purple splendor, soft winds play
Where roses bloom and violets of May,
Robin to robin in the tree-tops call,
And all sweet sights and sounds the senses thrall,
Just as they did before that dreadful day!
Does that bring comfort ? Are we glad to know
That our eyes sometime must forget to weep,
Even as June forgets December's snow ?
Over the graves where our beloved sleep,
We charge thee, Time, let not the green grass grow,
Nor your relentless mosses coldly creep !
.
GRASS grows at last above all graves, you say ?
Why, therein lies the sharpest sting of all !
To think that stars will rise and dews will fall,
Hills flush with purple splendor, soft winds play
Where roses bloom and violets of May,
Robin to robin in the tree-tops call,
And all sweet sights and sounds the senses thrall,
Just as they did before that dreadful day!
Does that bring comfort ? Are we glad to know
That our eyes sometime must forget to weep,
Even as June forgets December's snow ?
Over the graves where our beloved sleep,
We charge thee, Time, let not the green grass grow,
Nor your relentless mosses coldly creep !
.