When the grass shall cover me,
Head to foot where I am lying;
When not any wind that blows,
Summer-blooms nor winter snows,
I will be glad to-day: the sun
Smiles all adown the land;
The lilies lean along the way;
Serene on either hand,
Thy satin vesture richer is than looms
Of Orient weave for raiment of her kings.
Not dyes of old Tyre, not precious things
Regathered from the long forgotten tombs
A breath of balm—of orange bloom!
By what strange fancy wafted me,
Through the lone starlight of the room?
And suddenly I seem to see
It’s O my heart, my heart,
To be out in the sun and sing-
To sing and shout in the fields about,
In the balm and the blossoming!
What were this human
World without woman?
Think –just a minute! –
Without one in it –
Night and the hill to me!
Silence no sound that jars;
Above, of stars a sea;
Below, a sea of stars!
Here’s the volume: stain nor blot
Mars a leaf to-day;
Sin and folly, they are not;
Sorrow is away.
After the winter rain,
Sing robin! -sing, swallow!
Grasses are in the lane,
Buds and flowers will follow.
Was it the sigh and shiver of the leaves?
Was it the murmer of the meadow brook,
That in and out the reeds and water weeds
Slipped silverly, and on their tremulous keys