Jones Very

“ Till I forget that I am called a man,
And at thy side fast-rooted seem to be,
And the breeze comes my cheek with thine to fan;
Upon this craggy hill our life shall pass,
A life of summer days and summer joys,
Nodding our honeybells mid pliant grass
In which the bee half hid his time employs ”

“ With painted cheek and smooth deceitful skin;
Covering a grave with sights of darkness rife,
A secret cavern filled with death and sin;
And men walk o'er these graves and know it not,
For in the body's health the soul's forgot. ”

“ Each flower that makes our Spring a welcome guest,
In one sweet bond of brotherhood inwove
On osier band their leafy stalks compressed;
A stranger's hand had made their bloom my own,
And fresh their fragrance rest on the air ”