’NEATH the spiring of spruces <br /> Above the blue sea, <br />Lo, a field of white crosses, <br /> A garden of grief! <br />—And a riot of roses, <br /> Of red and white roses, <br />Rich Death! all in blossom, <br /> Fair Loss! all in leaf. <br />Aye, their warm cherub-cheeks <br /> To cold marble they press; <br />With sweet summer-kisses <br /> Dead names they caress; <br />Yon tomb, see, all garlands, <br /> All roses this cross! <br />—So breathe, my lamenting! <br /> So bloom, O my loss!<br /><br />Blanche Edith Baughan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/god-s-acre-2/
