Here on this hill hay-making is over.
Tomorrow in the paddies let's reap the rice.

Sun's already sinking. Valleys grow dark.
Horse, we're going — carry the hay on your back.

Autumn's over. On the path between the paddies,
that must be another bride — five lanterns.

Here lieth under this marbill ston,
Riche Alane, the ballid man;
Whether he be safe or noght,
I recke never — for he ne roght!

WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED--
'Here lieth One whose name was writ on water.'
But, ere the breath that could erase it blew,
Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter,
Death, the immortalizing winter, flew
Athwart the stream,--and time's printless torrent grew
A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name
Of Adonais!

Here lies what had not birth, nor shape, nor fame;
No gentleman! no man! no-thing! no name!
For Jammie ne'er grew James; and what they call
More, shrunk to Smith--and Smith's no name at all.
Yet die thou can'st not, Phantom, oddly fated:
For how can no-thing be annihilated?
Ex nihilo nihil fit.

Here lies the preacher, judge, and poet, Peter
Who broke the laws of God, and man and metre.

Here lies the man who stripp'd Sin bare.
And kept her lean, on hard-earn'd fare;
Who forc'd the poor at home to stay,
But rode to church on Sabbath day;
And went to heav'n, the sinless say,
Because he bother'd God with prayer,
And would not let him have his way.

Here lies the Devil--ask no other name.
Well--but you mean Lord--? Hush! we mean the same.

Here lies the best and worst of fate,
Two kings delight, the people 's hate,
The courtier 's star, the kingdom 's eye,
A man to draw an angel by;
Fear 's despiser, Villier s' glory,
The great man's volume, all Time's story.

Here lies Sir John Plumpudding, of the Grange,
Who hung himself one morning, for a change.

Here lies my wife,
Here lies she;
Hallelujah!