For thee was a house built <br />Ere thou wast born, <br />For thee was a mould meant <br />Ere thou of mother camest. <br />But it is not made ready, <br />Nor its depth measured, <br />Nor is it seen <br />How long it shall be. <br />Now I bring thee <br />Where thou shalt be; <br />Now I shall measure thee, <br />And the mould afterwards. <br /> <br />Thy house is not <br />Highly timbered, <br />It is unhigh and low; <br />When thou art therein, <br />The heel-ways are low, <br />The side-ways unhigh. <br />The roof is built <br />Thy breast full nigh, <br />So thou shalt in mould <br />Dwell full cold, <br />Dimly and dark. <br /> <br />Doorless is that house, <br />And dark it is within; <br />There thou art fast detained <br />And Death hath the key. <br />Loathsome is that earth-house, <br />And grim within to dwell. <br />There thou shalt dwell, <br />And worms shall divide thee. <br /> <br />Thus thou art laid, <br />And leavest thy friends <br />Thou hast no friend, <br />Who will come to thee, <br />Who will ever see <br />How that house pleaseth thee; <br />Who will ever open <br />The door for thee, <br />And descend for thee; <br />For soon thou art loathsome <br />And hateful to see.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-grave-from-the-anglo-saxon/
