In the grave reposing
Wherefore would’st thou stay interred
When glee and gambol make the day;
Your sullen mood must be inferred
When you’re so down, so far away!
The pleasures found up here on earth
The dances, games, and hearty cheer
Make rising up the effort worth
Since life entombed’s so very drear.
Play makes the somber spirit rise
And laughter ashen visage glow
While shaking off death’s sullen sighs
It smoothes away the morbid brow:
Thus can one have of earthly reverie a spell
Escaping from the tomb’s remorseless silent knell
And, for good (or bad) measure, in our hard times, another:
And, for good (or bad) measure, in our hard times, another:
The gravestones stayed grave
(A springtime stroll in the old Montague graveyard
holding some of Anne’s ancestors)
Warmed were the stones we strolled through,
On this summery afternoon,
Yet our forebears sleeping in their tombs
Seemed not to sense the date:
The season bright had now begun,
With flowers fresh in bloom,
But instead of celebrating,
They slept silently in state!
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