Funerals
Past
I.
Four stalwart neighbours,
Hats in hands,
With coffin hoisted to broad shoulders,
Shuffled through the darkened door.
II.
They stooped to let their burden pass beneath
The eaves
Which overhung their way;
Then they emerged, dazed by the dark,
With black clothes dusted white
By cold ashes
From leaden fires within the dull demesne.
III.
And on a cart they set the coffin down.
IV.
They,
Bowed heads uncovered to the raging storm,
Grouped silently around the dismal pile;
And others,
Hats aslant,
Leaned on the mourning blasts.
V.
The headless hills,
Half-shrouded in grey clouds,
Loomed round the cold and sombre scene.
VI.
Only one look —
Just one —
His widow gave;
Then turned her bowèd back.
VII.
No more she’d see him now.
VIII.
The solemn cortège passed into the grim,
The awful place of death and dead,
Where agèd bones lie cold in damp, soft mould;
Where to enter, at last, is No Return.
IX.
There they laid him in meagre estate.
Present
X.
There he rots now
As they await their turn!.
XI.
His widow weeps alone; her friends have paid
Respects due to deceasèd souls.
Now she, alone, must face
Grim life;
Till grimmer death shuts off her cares.
XII.
The rain down-lashes in bleak,
Biting squalls;
The howling of the weather strikes her ears
With mocking remorse.
Her loved-one is now far away;
No more
His dear voice will she hear,
Nor feel his fond embrace.
XIII.
All former things have passed away.
XIV.
Thus do all lives draw do their sorry close.
Old friends are gone,
New ones can’t understand;
We stay, until our parting, quite alone.
As are the dead!.
Future
XV.
Then stalwart neighbours,
Hats in hands,
With coffins hoisted to broad shoulders,
Will shuffle through our darkened doors.
They’ll stoop, to let their burdens pass beneath
The eaves
Which overhang the way.
Then they’ll emerge, dazed by the dark.
On carts they’ll set their burdens down.
With bowèd heads thy’ll brave the storms.
They’ll place our coffins in that place of death
Wherefrom, once laid, there’s No Return;
Where agèd bones lie cold in damp, soft mould.
XVI.
Then they will turn, their turns to wait!.
