Quiet Dead!

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Quiet Dead!

Quiet, quiet dead,

Have ye aught to say

From your hidden bed

In the earthy clay?

Fathers, children, mothers,

Ye are very quiet;

Can ye shout, my brothers?

I would know you by it!

Have ye any words

That are like to ours?

Have ye any birds?

Have ye any flowers?

Could ye rise a minute

When the sun is warm?

I would know you in it,

I would take no harm.

I am half afraid

In the ghostly night;

If ye all obeyed

I should fear you quite.

But when day is breaking

In the purple east

I would meet you waking⁠—

One of you at least⁠—

When the sun is tipping

Every stony block,

And the sun is slipping

Down the weathercock.

Quiet, quiet dead,

I will not perplex you;

What my tongue hath said

Haply it may vex you!

Yet I hear you speaking

With a quiet speech,

As if ye were seeking

Better things to teach:

“Wait a little longer,

Suffer and endure

Till your heart is stronger

And your eyes are pure⁠—

A little longer, brother,

With your fellow-men:

We will meet each other

Otherwhere again.”