OUT from the City?s dust and roar, 
You wandered through the open door; 
Paused at a plaything pail and spade 
Across a tiny hillock laid; 
Then noted on your dexter side 
Some moneyed mourner?s ?love or pride;? 
And so,?beyond a hawthorn-tree, 
Showering its rain of rosy bloom 
Alike on low and lofty tomb,? 
You came upon it?suddenly. 
 
How strange! The very grasses? growth 
Around it seemed forlorn and loath; 
The very ivy seemed to turn 
Askance that wreathed the neighbor urn. 
The slab had sunk; the head declined,
And left the rails a wreck behind. 
No name; you traced a ?6,??a ?7,?? 
Part of ?affliction? and of ?Heaven;? 
And then, in letters sharp and clear, 
You read?O Irony austere!?
?Tho? lost to Sight, to Mem?ry dear.?