Easily to the old Opens the hard ground:But when youth grows cold, And red lips have no sound,Bitterly does the earth Open to receiveAnd bitterly do the grasses In the churchyard grieve.
Cold clay knows how to hold An agèd hand;But how to comfort youth It does not understand.Even the gravel rasps In a dumb wayWhen youth comes homing Before its day.
Elizabeth's hair was made To warm a man's breast,Her lips called like roses To be caressed;But grim the Jester Who gave her hair to lieOn the coldest lover Under the cold sky.
But Elizabeth never knew, Nor will learn now,How the long wrinkle comes On the white brow;Nor will she ever know, In her robes of gloom,How chill is a dead child From a warm womb.
O clay, so tender When a flower is born!Press gently as she dreams In her bed forlorn.They who come early Must weary of their rest--Lie softly, then, as light On her dear breast.
Unflowered is her floor, Her roof is unstarred.Is this then the ending-- Here, shuttered and barred?Nay, not the ending; She will awakeOr the heart of the earth That enfolds her will break.
Easily to the old Opens the hard ground:But when youth grows cold, And red lips have no sound,Bitterly does the earth Open to receiveAnd bitterly do the grasses In the churchyard grieve.
