In Death Divided


      I shall rot here, with those whom in their day
            You never knew,
      And alien ones who, ere they chilled to clay,
            Met not my view,
Will in your distant grave-place ever neighbour you.


      No shade of pinnacle or tree or tower,
            While earth endures,
      Will fall on my mound and within the hour
            Steal on to yours;
One robin never haunt our two green covertures.


      Some organ may resound on Sunday noons
            By where you lie,
      Some other thrill the panes with other tunes
            Where moulder I;
No selfsame chords compose our common lullaby.


      The simply-cut memorial at my head
            Perhaps may take
      A Gothic form, and that above your bed
            Be Greek in make;
No linking symbol show thereon for our tales sake.


      And in the monotonous moils of strained, hard-run
      The eternal tie which binds us twain in one
            No eye will see
Stretching across the miles that sever you from me.