Life is benumbed and frozen up for ever.
Oh! walk not through the fields, there is nothing there but graves;
Oh! roam not by the lake-side, blood-crimsoned are its waves;
Oh! fly not to the house-tops, all there that thou shalt find
Are but the reeking embers that ruin left behind.
* * * * *
We are dying—
We are scattered far and wide
Like a sheaf by storm untied.
Some lie within the tomb,