They keep on talking it over and over,
Buzzing like bees in a field of clover:
But he lies quiet, and never heeds them
Who've all come now, when least he needs them

Why he did it, they wonder and wonder,
Muttering and mumbling like far-off thunder —
Why he did it and what the reason —
Trouble at home, or just the bad season?

Or, happen, some scandal? With noddles together,
They wonder if she had a hand in ... or whether ...
But he lies quiet, and does not hear them
Who've come too late for him to fear them

They keep on buzzing of something hidden —
Bluebottle-flies aswarm on a midden,
Till muck-raking minds are fuddled and gory —
Yet only the dead man knows the story