The Forgotten Grave

OUT from the City’s dust and roar, You wandered through the open door; Paused at a plaything pail and spade Across a tiny hillock laid; Then noted on your dexter side Some moneyed mourner’s “love or pride;” And so,—beyond a hawthorn-tree, Showering its rain of rosy bloom Alike on low and lofty tomb,— You came upon it—suddenly. How strange! The very grasses’ growth Around it seemed forlorn and loath; The very ivy seemed to turn Askance that wreathed the neighbor urn. The slab had sunk; the head declined, And left the rails a wreck behind. No name; you traced a “6,”—a “7,”— Part of “affliction” and of “Heaven;” And then, in letters sharp and clear, You read—O Irony austere!— “Tho’ lost to Sight, to Mem’ry dear.”