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Poem	With tears they buried you to-day, But well I knew no turf could hold Your gladness long beneath the mould, Or cramp your laughter in the clay; I smiled while others wept for you Because I knew. And now you sit with me to-night Here in our old, accustomed place; Tender and mirthful is your face, Your eyes with starry joy are bright Oh, you are merry as a song For love is strong! They think of you as lying there Down in the churchyard grim and old; They think of you as mute and cold, A wan, white thing that once was fair, With dim, sealed eyes that never may Look on the day. But love cannot be coffined so In clod and darkness; it must rise And seek its own in radiant guise, With immortality aglow, Making of death's triumphant sting A little thing. Ay, we shall laugh at those who deem Our hearts are sundered! Listen, sweet, The tripping of the wind's swift feet Along the by-ways of our dream, And hark the whisper of the rose Wilding that blows. Oh, still you love those simple things, And still you love them more with me; The grave has won no victory; It could not clasp your shining wings, It could not keep you from my side, Dear and my bride!
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