The End of the World
Even the silent lips and comforting calm face
I had no more; I took my place
Still wondering, behind the slow sad coach that bore
All of your beauty Death could rob from me,
One amongst many men who followed thee.
‘Now comes an end of things,’ I said, and faced the light
And saw the sun; there was not any night
Although the sands of your sweet life had run.
Even the little children, in their glee,
Raced by the four slow steeds that carried thee.
The curious passer’s gaze I watched with jealous eyes
Your coffin find, through its disguise
Of living flowers; you from their careless pity safe behind
Those wooden walls; oh, safe, my dear, no one shall see,
Or none remember, save those who follow thee.
Even the little birds and blossoming spring flowers,
They did not care, and still the hours
Went on to weave slow days to years for me to bear.
No song was hushed, no laughter stilled for me,
No woman wept when my world died with thee.
