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.