Sunday, May 8, 2016


      HEN I lie where shades of darkness
      Shall no more assail mine eyes,
      Nor the rain make lamentation
      When the wind sighs;
      How will fare the world whose wonder
      Was the very proof of me?
      Memory fades, must the remember'd
      Perishing be?
      Oh, when this my dust surrenders
      Hand, foot, lip, to dust again,
      May these loved and loving faces
      Please other men!
      May the rusting harvest hedgerow
      Still the Traveller's Joy entwine,
      And as happy children gather
      Posies once mine.
      Look thy last on all things lovely,
      Every hour. Let no night
      Seal thy sense in deathly slumber
      Till to delight
      Thou have paid thy utmost blessing;
      Since that all things thou wouldst praise
      Beauty took from those who loved them
      In other days.
Walter de la Mare

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