THE GREEN GRASS
The dead spake together last night,
And one to the other said:
"Why are we dead?"
And one to the other said:
"Why are we dead?"
They turned them face to face about
In the place where they were laid:
"Why are we dead?"
In the place where they were laid:
"Why are we dead?"
"This is the sweet, sweet month o' May,
And the grass is green o'erhead—
Why are we dead?
And the grass is green o'erhead—
Why are we dead?
"The grass grows green on the long, long tracks
That I shall never tread—
Why are we dead?
That I shall never tread—
Why are we dead?
"The lamp shines like the glow-worm spark,
From the bield where I was bred—
Why am I dead?"
From the bield where I was bred—
Why am I dead?"
22
