In the whole graveyard there is not a nymph
To rustle through the yellow fall of leaves,
Upon a tomb a pitying angel grieves,
And pigeons wrapped in Tyrian purple shawls
Forget the shrine of Cyprus in the sea
To sit upon the headstones gloomily.
Only the yellow trees are casual
Of all the meager dust they stand above--
And still ignoring death, shout "hail!" to love.
