Explore "Requiem" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Now veiled in the inviolable past / Love lies asleep, who never more will wake; / Nor would you wake him, even for my sake / Who for your sake pray he sleep sound at last.
What good thing had we of him -- we who bore / So long his yoke? what pleasant thing had we / That we should weep his deathlong sleep to see, / Or call on Life to waken him once more?
A little joy he gave, and much of pain, / A little pleasure, and enduring grief, / One flower of joy, and pain piled sheaf on sheaf, / Harvests of loss, for every bud of gain.
Yet where he lies in this deserted place / Divided by his narrow grave we sit, / Welded together by the depths of it, / Watching the years pass, with averted face.
We do not mourn for him, for here is peace; / The old unrest frets not these empty years; / With him went smiles a few, and many tears, / And peace is sweeter far than those or these.
Only -- we owe him nothing. If he gave, / We too gave gifts -- his gifts were less than ours: / We gave the world, that held so many flowers / For this -- the world that only holds his grave.