Classic Poem

Over your dear dead heart I'll lift
As lightly as a bough,
Saying, " Here lies the false, high song,
Cruelly quiet now. "

I'll say, " Here lies the lying sword,
Still dripping with my truth;
Here lies the lovely sheath I made
Embroidered with my youth. "

I'll sing: " Here lies, here lies, here lies! "
Ah, rust in peace below! —
Passers will wonder at my words,
But your dark dust will know.