A LOOK INTO THE GRAVE .

I LOOK , through tears, into the dust to find
What manner of rest man's only rest may be.
The darkness rises up and smites me blind.
The darkness — is there nothing more to see?

Oh, after flood, and fire, and famine, and
The hollow watches we are made to keep
In our forced marches over sea and land —
I wish we had a sweeter place to sleep.