Its joys and griefs, its harmony and strife;
Dissolves as if intent to negative
The utmost art of builder to revive.
Did ever man re-tread his native land
On whom Death once has laid his icy hand?
Yet living men will counterfeit a woe
For loss that in their graves they cannot know!
Well Nature losing patience might express
Herself in plain reproof of fussiness:
“What ails the man? Why all this waste of breath