In A Grave-Yard

By William Stanley Braithwaite

In calm fellowship they sleep
Where the graves are dark and deep,
Where nor hate nor fraud nor feud
Mar their perfect brotherhood.
After all was done they went
Into dreamless sleep, content,
That the years would pass them by,
Sightless, soundless, where they lie.
Wines and roses, song and dance,
Have no portion in their trance—
The four seasons are as one,
Dark of night, and light of sun.

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