I have no heart for noon-tide and the sun, <br />But I will take me where more tender night <br />Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy darkness down. <br />And shelters me that I may weep in peace, <br />And feel no pitying eyes, and hear no voice <br />Attempt my grief in comfort's alien tongue. <br /> <br />Where cypresses, more black than night is black, <br />Border straight paths, or where, on hillside slopes, <br />The dim grglimmer of the olive trees <br />Lies like a breath, a ghost, upon the dark, <br />There will I wander when the nightingale <br />Ceases, and even the veil`ed stars withdraw <br />Their tremulous light, there find myself at rest, <br /> <br />A silence and a shadow in the gloom. <br />But all the dead of all the world shall know <br />The pacing of my sable-sandall'd feet, <br />And know my tear-drenched veil along the grass, <br />And think them less forsaken in their graves, <br /> <br />Saying: There's one remembers, one still mourns; <br />For the forgotten dead are dead indeed.<br /><br />Adelaide Crapsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mourner-3/
