Part 2 — REQUIESCAT
Reading edition
Tread lightly, she is near, Under the snow; Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast; I vex my heart alone, She is at rest.
Peace, peace; she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet; All my life's buried here— Heap earth upon it.
Oscar Wilde [1856-1900]