| |
| SHE only died last week, and yet | |
| Suns might have risen and have set | |
| A thousand: May ’s here like a bride, | |
| And it was May when Mary died. | |
| |
| Incredible! We might last week | 5 |
| Have kissed her, held her, heard her speak, | |
| Who now has travelled far, so far | |
| Beyond the moon and the day-star. | |
| |
| Since she has gone all Time and Space | |
| Have lost their meanings: Mary’s face | 10 |
| Grows dim in distance, like a light | |
| Far down a darkness infinite. | |
| |
| Last week! Why this new grief we have | |
| Is old as Time, old as the grave: | |
| It was and will be: darkness spread | 15 |
| Over the world since Mary’s dead. | |
| |
| Last week she died. The lilac bough | |
| Her eyes watched bud is blooming now. | |
| The chestnut ’s lit her lamp since then, | |
| And the lost cuckoo ’s come again. | 20 |
| |
| A week ago! O endless space | |
| Since Mary heavenward turned her face! | |
| And still the lilac ’s on the spray | |
| That budded when she went away. | |
| |
