| |
| NOW is done thy long day’s work; | |
| Fold thy palms across thy breast, | |
| Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. | |
| Let them rave. | |
| Shadows of the silver birk | 5 |
| Sweep the green that folds thy grave. | |
| Let them rave. | |
| |
| Thee nor carketh care nor slander; | |
| Nothing but the small cold worm | |
| Fretteth thine enshrouded form. | 10 |
| Let them rave. | |
| Light and shadow ever wander | |
| O’er the green that folds thy grave. | |
| Let them rave. | |
| |
| Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed; | 15 |
| Chaunteth not the brooding bee | |
| Sweeter tones than calumny? | |
| Let them rave. | |
| Thou wilt never raise thine head | |
| From the green that folds thy grave. | 20 |
| Let them rave. | |
| |
| Crocodiles wept tears for thee; | |
| The woodbine and eglatere | |
| Drip sweeter dews than traitor’s tear. | |
| Let them rave. | 25 |
| Rain makes music in the tree | |
| O’er the green that folds thy grave. | |
| Let them rave. | |
| |
| Round thee blow, self-pleached deep, | |
| Bramble-roses, faint and pale, | 30 |
| And long purples of the dale. | |
| Let them rave. | |
| These in every shower creep | |
| Thro’ the green that folds thy grave. | |
| Let them rave. | 35 |
| |
| The gold-eyed kingcups fine; | |
| The frail bluebell peereth over | |
| Rare broidry of the purple clover. | |
| Let them rave. | |
| Kings have no such couch as thine, | 40 |
| As the green that folds thy grave. | |
| Let them rave. | |
| |
| Wild words wander here and there; | |
| God’s great gift of speech abused | |
| Makes thy memory confused: | 45 |
| But let them rave. | |
| The balm-cricket carols clear | |
| In the green that folds thy grave. | |
| Let them rave. | |
| |
