  I DIG a grave from hour to hour, A little house of dole and death, A gruesome court, a ghastly bower, For love that drew dishonoured breath. I dig a grave from day to day, Without a pang or any prayer, Irreverently, clay to clay, I lay my dead illusions there. I dig a grave from year to year. God wot it needs be wide and deep, For hopes that mock the chance of fear, For dreams beyond the sport of sleep! |
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