White moons may come, white moons may go- <br />She sleeps where early blossoms blow; <br />Knows nothing of the leafy June, <br />That leans above her night and noon, <br />Crowned now with sunbeam, now with moon, <br />Watching her roses grow. <br /> <br />The downy moth at twilight comes <br />And flutters round their honeyed blooms: <br />Long, lazy clouds, like ivory, <br />That isle the blue lagoons of sky, <br />Redden to molten gold and dye <br />With flame the pine-deep glooms. <br /> <br />Dew, dripping from wet fern and leaf; <br />The wind, that shakes the violet's sheaf; <br />The slender sound of water lone, <br />That makes a harp-string of some stone, <br />And now a wood bird's glimmering moan, <br />Seem whisperings there of grief. <br /> <br />Her garden, where the lilacs grew, <br />Where, on old walls, old roses blew, <br />Head-heavy with their mellow musk, <br />Where, when the beetle's drone was husk, <br />She lingered in the dying dusk, <br />No more shall know that knew. <br /> <br />Her orchard,-where the Spring and she <br />Stood listening to each bird and bee,- <br />That, from its fragrant firmament, <br />Snowed blossoms on her as she went, <br />(A blossom with their blossoms blent) <br />No more her face shall see. <br /> <br />White moons may come, white moons may go- <br />She sleeps where early blossoms blow: <br />Around her headstone many a seed <br />Shall sow itself; and brier and weed <br />Shall grow to hide it from men's heed, <br />And none will care or know.<br /><br />Madison Julius Cawein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-woodland-grave/
