Elegy before Death

There will be rose and rhododendron / When you are dead and under ground; / Still will be heard from white syringas / Heavy with bees, a sunny sound; // Still will the tamaracks be raining / After the rain has ceased, and still / Will there be robins in the stubble, / Brown sheep upon the warm green hill. // Spring will not ail nor autumn falter; / Nothing will know that you are gone, / Saving alone some sullen plough-land / None but yourself sets foot upon; // Saving the may-weed and the pig-weed / Nothing will know that you are dead,— / These, and perhaps a useless wagon / Standing beside some tumbled shed. // Oh, there will pass with your great passing / Little of beauty not your own,— / Only the light from common water, / Only the grace from simple stone!