AGATHA'S SONG.
Sooner or later, the storms shall beatOver my slumber from head to feet;Sooner or later, the winds shall raveIn the long grass above my grave.
I shall not heed them where I lie,Nothing their sound shall signify;Nothing the head-stone's fret of rain,Nothing to me the dark day's pain.
Sooner or later, the sun shall shineWith tender warmth on that mound of mine;Sooner or later, in summer air,Clover and violet blossom there.
I shall not feel in that deep-laid restThe sheeted light fall over my breast;Nor ever note in those hidden hoursThe wind-blown breath of the tossing flowers.
