THE MESSENGER VoL. XXXVI
NOVEMBER, 1909
There is a graveyard where I go Sometimes to sit and muse awhile; There gentle, murmuring breezes blow And sweet-faced daisies nod and smile. In a corner shut in by trees from view Three mounds upheave the grassy knoll ; A Hope lies buried in each of two And in the third is laid my Soul. One Hope and another was lost in the strife And each in its turn was laid away; Then this body lived on with its semblance of life But the Soul has been dead for many a day. So I dream of the life that used to be And the weary dead days that since have past While a cold dead heart y et throbs in me And I wonder how long the farce will last.
No.2