Poems (Linn)/In the Sandwich Burying-Ground
IN THE SANDWICH BURYING-GROUND.
THE centuries which mark that grass-grown moundHave left no trace upon the heaving sea;The sky bends over, while most lovinglyThe summer winds caress it to sweet sound,Or winter's tempests make its waters boundLike living creatures full of ecstasy,Leaping and crouching,—ceaseless, changeless, free.The human heart as limitless, profound,Is like the sea's incessant ebb and flowMoving yet constant. Yonder crumbling stoneThat marks a grave will be at last laid low.But do the silent dead forget their own?Filling the heart, love's full returning tide,In blessing flows from spirits glorified.