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TO THE BODIES OF THE DEAD
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Crumbling into dust;
Strong arm and lofty brow
Which made the nations bow,
Wrapt in eternal gloom
Crumble into dust;
Yea, face and breasts and womb
Which moved men’s love and lust,
Alike within the tomb
Fall to a little dust.
O solitary hearts that no pain sears,
I give you gifts of grief through all my years;
O poor transformèd eyes that may not weep,
I bring you many tears;
O void dark brains laid in ignoble rest,
Though ye be buried deep,
Your unborn thoughts in me made manifest
Throng to you where ye sleep.
