I stood to hear that bold

I stood to hear that bold
Sentence of grit and mould.
Earth to earth; they thrust
On his coffin dust;
Stones struck against his grave:
O the old days, the brave!

Just with a pebble's fall.
Grave-digger, you turn all
Bliss to bereaving;
To catch the cleaving
Of Atropa's fine shears
Would less hurt human ears.

Live senses that death dooms!
For friendship in dear rooms,
Slow-lighting faces,
Hand-clasps, embraces.
Ashes on ashes grind:
O poor lips left behind!

Mortality turns round
On mortals in that sound:
Ears are for the knell
Of a muffled bell:
Touch, for clods of earth;
Sight, for torture and dearth.