Volume 11 — TO A DECEASED[2]

But this is more than I can bear, That still the laughing sun is bright, As in the days when you were there, That clocks are striking, unaware, And mark the change of day and night— That we, as twilight dims the air, Assemble when the day is done, And that the place where stood your chair Already many others share, And that you seem thus missed by none; When meanwhile from the gate below The narrow strips of moonlight spare Into your vault down deeply go And with a ghostly pallid glow Are stealing o'er your coffin there.