On a Breton Cemetery

They sleep well here,1
These fisher-folk who passed their stormy days2
In fierce Atlantic ways ;3
And found not there4
Beneath the long, curled wave5
So quiet a grave.6
And they sleep well,7
These peasant-folk who told their life away8
From day to market-day ;9
As one should tell10
Dimly, mechanically,11
Some poor, sad rosary.12
And now night falls ;13
Me, passion-tossed and driven from pillar to post,14
A poor worn ghost,15
This sleepy pasture calls,16
And dear dead people with wan hands17
Beckon me to their lands.18