SOME day as now the world shall reawake:
The city from its brief, dream-tortured sleep;
The country, from its slumber pure and deep,
To songs of birds in every flowering brake;
And men light-hearted, or with hearts that ache,
Shall rise and go what they have sown to reap;
And women smile, or sit alone and weep
For life once sweet, grown bitter for love’s sake.
But we, that day, shall not be here, — not we ;
We shall have done with life, though few may know.
Between us then shall awful stillness be
W ho spake such words of bliss, such words of woe,
As winds remember, chanting fitfully —
Chanting as now — above us lying low.
Philip Bourke Marston.