Explore "In the Churchyard at Cambridge" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In the village churchyard she lies, / Dust is in her beautiful eyes, / No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs; / At her feet and at her head / Lies a slave to attend the dead, / But their dust is white as hers.
Was she a lady of high degree, / So much in love with the vanity / And foolish pomp of this world of ours? / Or was it Christian charity, / And lowliness and humility, / The richest and rarest of all dowers?
Who shall tell us? No one speaks; / No color shoots into those cheeks, / Either of anger or of pride, / At the rude question we have asked; / Nor will the mystery be unmasked / By those who are sleeping at her side.
Hereafter? -- And do you think to look / On the terrible pages of that Book / To find her failings, faults, and errors? / Ah, you will then have other cares, / In your own short-comings and despairs, / In your own secret sins and terrors!