Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
During Wind and Rain
They sing their dearest songs--
He, she, all of them--yea,
Treble and tenor and bass.
And one to play;
We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod,
--They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
The Convergence of the Twain
In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.
The Man He Killed
Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!
Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.
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