THE DEAD MAN
He lay unasking of our aid,
His grim face questioning the sky,
While we stood by with idle spade,
And gazed on him with curious eye.
His grim face questioning the sky,
While we stood by with idle spade,
And gazed on him with curious eye.
Upon one hand a little ring;
A little earth clutched in one hand,
As he would bear some kindly thing
Unto that new and unknown land.
A little earth clutched in one hand,
As he would bear some kindly thing
Unto that new and unknown land.
This unnamed heap of human dust,
Buoyant so late with human breath,
And now majestic and august
With th' vast indifference of death!
Buoyant so late with human breath,
And now majestic and august
With th' vast indifference of death!
Within that many-mansioned brain,
A-through its corridors and cells,
Do no ghosts flit? Comes ne'er again
Old Memory with her mystic spells?
A-through its corridors and cells,
Do no ghosts flit? Comes ne'er again
Old Memory with her mystic spells?
16
