XXIX.

TRYING TO FORGET.

Bereaved of all, I went abroad, No less bereaved to be Upon a new peninsula, -- The grave preceded me,

Obtained my lodgings ere myself, And when I sought my bed, The grave it was, reposed upon The pillow for my head.

I waked, to find it first awake, I rose, -- it followed me; I tried to drop it in the crowd, To lose it in the sea,

In cups of artificial drowse To sleep its shape away, -- The grave was finished, but the spade Remained in memory.