Dirge

What shall her dreaming keep
Under the sun?
Here where the willows weep
And waters run;
Here where she lies asleep
And all is done.

Lights, when the tree-top swings;
Scents that are blown;
Sounds of the wood-bird’s wings;
And the bee’s drone;
These be her comfortings
Round her headstone.

What shall watch o’er her here
When day is fled?
Here when the night is near
And skies are red;
Here where she lieth dear
And young and dead.

Shadows, and winds that spill
Dew; and the rune
Of the wild whippoorwill;
And the white moon;
These be the watchers still
Round her headstone.