Lines to the Dead in an Old New Hampshire Grave Yard

They lie within their graves unsung Who cherished dreams and had no care And walked like lords when they were young, And found earth's meaning everywhere.

Here slumber those who knew the flame Love burns for youth when spring is high, Who gave themselves and felt no shame To slake long love and let it die.

This yard holds women who were kind And loved one man and kept his place, Who gave him sons to leave behind, Hard-thewed for work and lean of face.

And some, here lain, went forth to roam Far roads of earth but roaming yearned To know again these hills of home And to their rocky fields returned.

They knew the old New Hampshire soil Was good to walk upon and they Found happiness who made long toil Yield up a little growth of hay.

Yet all is dust of those who saw Their sons renew their own spent fire And by the same unerring law Grow weary too, and soon expire.

These stood and watched each other fall And heard their fellows groan and die, And seeing could not speak at all And hearing feared, but gave no cry.

Now still as any star is still Each lying in his niche alone They rest beside the singing hill As dreamless and as old as stone.

O Spring, adorn their graves with fern And garland them again with grass. They lived to wonder and to yearn And thus mysteriously pass; Repeat it over, over, over Life is greater than they knew. O Summer, bring your wealth of clover Many summers - theirs were few. Cool Autumn, slow the burning days And strew your colors on the hill For these who loved your quiet ways When they were quick, but now are still. Then Winter, wrap them quietly In fields unharvested of snow, And whisper how the Spring will be And how the seasons come and go.

MR. EBERHART has written a number of poems about New Hampshire. This one, never before published, was written during his senior year at Dartmouth, and was rediscovered by him just recently.