Classic Poem

Eve beckoned me through the pine-wood:
Silently she flitted
Among disappearing spaces,
Shyly peeping at me
From behind dissolving tree-trunks;
Noiselessly she fluttered before me,
Like a pale butterfly,
Then suddenly I lost her.

And when I came out of the wood,
Into the open country;
I knew that Eve was dead —
Her misty eyes fast shut —
For I beheld dark wreaths
Piled high upon her grave,
And above it glittered
A solitary tombstone.