A Dirge.

Now is done thy long day’s work ;1
Fold thy palms across thy breast,2
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest.3
Let them rave.4
Shadows of the silver birk5
Sweep the green that folds thy grave.6
Let them rave.7
Thee nor carketh care nor slander ;8
Nothing but the small cold worm9
Fretteth thine enshrouded form.10
Let them rave.11
Light and shadow ever wander12
O’er the green that folds thy grave13
Let them rave.14
Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ;15
Chanteth not the brooding bee16
Sweeter tones than calumny ?17
Let them rave.18
Thou wilt never raise thine head19
From the green that folds thy grave20
Let them rave.21
Crocodiles wept tears for thee ;22
The woodbine and eglatere23
Drip sweeter dews than traitor’s tear.24
Let them rave.25
Rain makes music in the tree26
O’er the green that folds thy grave27
Let them rave.28
Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,29
Bramble roses, faint and pale,30
And “ long purples” of the dale31
Let them rave.32
These in every shower creep33
Through the green that folds thy grave34
Let them rave.35
The gold-eyed kingcups fine ;36
The frail cluebell peereth over37
Rare broidry of the purple clover38
Let them rave.39
Kings have no such couch as thine,40
As the green that folds thy grave41
Let them rave.42
Wild words wander here and there ;43
God’s great gift of speech abused44
Makes thy memory confused45
Let them rave.46
The balm-cricket carols clear47
In the green that folds thy grave48
Let them rave.49