At the ancient burying-ground,
Spirits overhead
Hover happily around
Gardens of the dead.
Nightly living lovers come
Quiet to that place,
All the phantoms flutter from
There without a trace.
Lovers take and use the night,
Gone before the dawn
Leaves a mourning-wreath of light
On the marbled lawn.
Lovers leave before the black
Sky returns to blue:
Fifty years, and they’ll be back
There as spirits too.
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