Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
III. One’s Own Tombstone
By William Allingham (1824–1889)
IN dream of thought to be among the years
  That are not born, like years of long ago,
  Who bows not, trembling? Dusk, with steps as slow
  As mine, crept through the churchyard, dropping tears
Like one that mourned. I mused and mused;—methought        5
  Some months, some years were gone, and in that spot
  Of graves is lingering a thoughtful boy.
  Amid the twilight stillness, deep and lone,
He stoops, to read an old half-buried stone,
  And weeds the mosses that almost destroy        10
  The letters of the name, which is—my own.
The wind about the old gray tower makes moan.
  He rises from the grave with saddened brow,
  And leaves it to the night, and sighs, as I do now.

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