A graveyard

I do once more long
to in a churchyard wander,
alone, unhappy,
pining for a lover gone,
forcing back the pain
and tears that overflow my eyes,
staining with remorse
youthful smile’s forgotten joy.

There is a nameless soul
who lingers there unknown
to all save those who wait
in joyous misery
of solitude untold;
forgotten mystery
of silent esoteric rites
and mossy weathered stones.

An ill kept gravel path
that rasps beneath the feet
and echoes o’er the graves
in whispers to the night
between the ageing trees,
whose useless dripping boughs
their poisonous berries red
drop gently to the mould

of needles on the earth,
compels my surly steps;
and were I here to die
then all eternity
would sing in silent praise
that I in perfect peace,
enfolded in the mists,
have gone to rest content.

I see through hazy stars
a mortal walking there,
as used I oft’ to do,
who stops to read a name
illegible almost
upon a tilted stone
and could I see more clear’
I’d find the name is mine.

How many years have passed
since death I fear to count
lest awe of passing time
should blot the memories
that still remain of life,
’though through the aeons now
their haziness conceals
the true remorse and joy.

An old grey tower of stone
whose crumbling buttressed walls
disclose their waning strength
is all I know of love
that never will be mine,
for now the World’s dead too
and I alone survive
to suffer all its sins.

I pray for nothing more,
for emptiness is gone
and even solitude
is possible no more;
oh, cry with me my Lord -
for love I cannot see -
for mankind’s foolish ways -
for gravel, trees and graves.