Annual Worship at Tombs

The peach and plum trees smile with flowers this famous day of spring,
And country graveyards round about with lamentations ring.
Thunder has startled insect life and roused the gnats and bees,
A gentle rain has urged the crops and soothed the flowers and trees —
Perhaps on this side lie the bones of a wretch whom no one knows;
On that, the sacred ashes of a patriot repose.
But who across the centuries can hope to mark each spot
Where fool or hero, joined in death, beneath the brambles rot?