Poems (Spofford)/Agatha's Song
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.
Sooner or later, the stainless snowsShall add their hush to my mute repose;Sooner or later shall slant and shiftAnd heap my bed with their dazzling drift.
Chill though that frozen pall shall seem,Its touch no colder can make the dreamThat recks not the sweet and sacred dreadShrouding the city of the dead.
Sooner or later, the bee shall comeAnd fill the noon with his golden hum;Sooner or later, on half-poised wing,The bluebird's warble about me ring,—
Ring and chirrup and whistle with glee,Nothing his music means to me;None of these beautiful things shall knowHow soundly their lover sleeps below.
Sooner or later, far out in the night,The stars shall over me wing their flight;Sooner or later, the answering dewsCatch the white spark in their silent ooze.
Never a ray shall part the gloomThat wraps me round in the kindly tomb;Peace shall be perfect for lip and browSooner or later,—but, oh, not now!