It crosses here, it crosses there, Thro' all that crowd confused and loud, The shadow still the same; And on my heavy eyelids My anguish hangs like shame. 11. Alas for her that met me, That heard me softly call, Came glimmering thro' the laurels In the garden by the turrets Of the old manorial hall. 12. Would the happy spirit descend, 13. But the broad light glares and beats, And will not let me be; And I loathe the squares and streets, And the faces that one meets, Hearts with no love for me: Into some still cavern deep, There to weep, and weep, and weep XXVII. 1. DEAD, long dead, And my heart is a handful of dust, And the hoofs of the horses beat, beat, Beat into my scalp and my brain, With never an end to the stream of passing feet, Driving, hurrying, marrying, burying, Clamor and rumble, and ringing and clatter, And here beneath it is all as bad, For I thought the dead had peace, but it is not so; To have no peace in the grave, is that not sad? But up and down and to and fro, Ever about me the dead men go; And then to hear a dead man chatter Is enough to drive one mad. 2. Wretchedest age, since Time began They cannot even bury a man; And tho' we paid our tithes in the days that are gone, Not a bell was rung, not a prayer was read It is that which makes us loud in the world of the dead; There is none that does his work, not one; A touch of their office might have sufficed, 3. See, there is one of us sobbing, And another, a lord of all things, praying And another, a statesman there, betraying Nothing but idiot gabble! 4. For the prophecy given of old Has come to pass as foretold; Not let any man think for the public good, For I never whisper'd a private affair Within the hearing of cat or mouse, No, not to myself in the closet alone, But I heard it shouted at once from the top of the house; Everything came to be known : Who told him we were there? 5. Not that gray old wolf, for he came not back From the wilderness, full of wolves, where he used to lie; He has gather'd the bones for his o'ergrown whelp to crack ; Crack them now for yourself, and howl, and die. 6. Prophet, curse me the blabbing lip, And curse me the British vermin, the rat; I know not whether he came in the Hanover ship. In an ancient mansion's crannies and holes : Except that now we poison our babes, poor souls! 7. Tell him now: she is standing here at my head He may take her now; for she never speaks her mind, But is ever the one thing silent here. She is not of us, as I divine; She comes from another stiller world of the dead, Stiller, not fairer than mine. 8. But I know where a garden grows, All made up of the lily and rose That blow by night, when the season is good, And I almost fear they are not roses, but blood; 9. But what will the old man say? He laid a cruel snare in a pit To catch a friend of mine one stormy day; When he comes to the second corpse in the pit? 10. Friend, to be struck by the public foe, Whatever the Quaker holds, from sin, 11. O me, why have they not buried me deep enough? Is it kind to have made me a grave so rough, Me, that was never a quiet sleeper? Maybe still I am but half dead; I will cry to the steps above my head, And somebody, surely, some kind heart will come To bury me, bury me Deeper, ever so little deeper. XXVIII. 1. My life has crept so long on a broken wing blest, And spoke of a hope for the world in the coming wars And in that hope, dear soul, let trouble have rest, Knowing I tarry for thee," and pointed to Mars As he glow'd like a ruddy shield on the Lion's breast. |