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| AWAKE, arise, you dead men all—dead women waken you | |
| The hunters moon is in the sky—her cruse of frosty dew | |
| Earth empties; throw your covers off, of grave grass, rank and green; | |
| This is the dead men’s holiday, ’tis Hallows e’en. | |
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| The mother with her buried child falls into tender play, | 5 |
| The baby at her shrouded breast sucks soft and sleeps away, | |
| The lover dead twelve years ago seeks out his buried dear | |
| That put her broken heart to sleep but yesteryear. | |
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| “Behold, my love, my hair is black, your bonny hair is white. | |
| How come my darling’s eyes so dim?” “With weeping many a night, | 10 |
| With sewing many a weary day through years that knew not you, | |
| But I have done with rosemary and bitter rue. | |
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| “My garland of dry rosemary hangs where I used to pray, | |
| My garden with its tansy flowers runs wild for many a day; | |
| The box plants that I tended well the passing children pull— | 15 |
| The green leaves strew the way they go, slow foot to school. | |
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| “And I have done with lessons now, have said my task all through, | |
| And I may rest at last, sweetheart, as once I played with you.” | |
| He kisses her, he blesses her, he strokes her faded hair— | |
| She never was so dear to him when she was fair. | 20 |
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| Brother and sister parted long by bitter words and blind | |
| Forget the years of severed ways with old love in their minds. | |
| The beggar that of hunger died, the girl that died of shame, | |
| Are playing with dead children now some childish game. | |
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| Husband and wife forget the wrong that kept their souls apart— | 25 |
| Hand lies in hand as tenderly as heart beats upon heart. | |
| This is the day for buried love to see as it is seen, | |
| This is the dead men’s holiday—All Hallows e’en. | |
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