Rain on a Grave

Clouds spout upon her
  Their waters amain
  In ruthless disdain, –
Her who but lately
  Had shivered with pain
As at touch of dishonour
If there had lit on her
So coldly, so straightly
  Such arrows of rain:
One who to shelter
  Her delicate head
  Would quicken and quicken
Each tentative tread
  If drops chanced to pelt her
That summertime spills
In dust-paven rills
When thunder-clouds thicken
  And birds close their bills.
Would that I lay there
  And she were housed here!
  Or better, together
Were folded away there
  Exposed to one weather
We both, – who would stray there
When sunny the day there,
Or evening was clear
  At the prime of the year.
Soon will be growing
  Green blades from her mound,
  And daisies be showing
Like stars on the ground,
  Till she form part of them –
Ay – the sweet heart of them,
Loved beyond measure
With a child’s pleasure
  All her life’s round.

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