European Elegies/Winter/The grave
36.THE GRAVE
The grave is deep and sunless,An orifice of frightThrough which our loved ones enterStrange lands of naked night.
No nightingale sings round itSoft lyrics of the south;Only love's bitter tear-dropsBedrench its mossy mouth.
Here raven-weeded widowsWring hands in fruitless pain,And children's wailing voicesInvoke the dead in vain.
Here living mourners sufferNo solace or release;But through these doors of darknessThe dead have passed to peace.
For hearts in earth's wild desertAttain no calm retreatFrom cruel storms of sorrowUntil they cease to beat.
From the Flemish of Karel Lodewyk Ledeganck.