Let them lie,--their day is over; Nought but night and stillness be: Let the slow rain come and bring Brake and stargrass, speedwell, harebell, All the fulness of the spring; What reck I of friend and lover? Foe by foe laid lovingly? What are mounds of green earth, either? What to me unfriendly bones Death hath pacified and won To a reconciled patience, Though their very graves have run In the blending earth together, And the spider links the stones? To the hills I wander, crying, Where we stood in days of old, Stood and saw the sunset die; Watched through tears the passing purple,-- O my darling! misery Has been mine; but thou wert lying In a slumber sweet and cold. |