IV.I could not think of thee as piecèd rot,Yet such thou wert, for thou hadst been long dead;Yet thou liv’dst entire in my seeing thoughtAnd what thou wert in me had never fled.Nay, I had fixed the moments of thy beauty—Thy ebbing smile, thy kiss’s readiness,And memory had taught my heart the dutyTo know thee ever at that deathlessness.But when I came where thou wert laid, and sawThe natural flowers ignoring thee sans blame,And the encroaching grass, with casual flaw,Framing the stone to age where was thy name,I knew not how to feel, nor what to beTowards thy fate’s material secrecy.
I could not think of thee as piecèd rot,Yet such thou wert, for thou hadst been long dead;Yet thou liv’dst entire in my seeing thoughtAnd what thou wert in me had never fled.Nay, I had fixed the moments of thy beauty—Thy ebbing smile, thy kiss’s readiness,And memory had taught my heart the dutyTo know thee ever at that deathlessness.But when I came where thou wert laid, and sawThe natural flowers ignoring thee sans blame,And the encroaching grass, with casual flaw,Framing the stone to age where was thy name,I knew not how to feel, nor what to beTowards thy fate’s material secrecy.