And passing here through evening dew, <br />He hastened happy to her door, <br />But found the old folk only two <br />With no more footsteps on the floor <br />To walk again below the skies <br />Where beaten paths do fall and rise. <br /> <br />For she wer gone from earthly eyes <br />To be a-kept in darksome sleep <br />Until the good again do rise <br />A joy to souls they left to weep. <br />The rose were dust that bound her brow; <br />The moth did eat her Sunday cape; <br />Her frock were out of fashion now; <br />Her shoes were dried up out of shape.<br /><br />William Barnes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-peasant-s-return/
