Thus spake his dust (so seemed it as I read 
The words): Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare 
(Poor ghost!) To digg the dust enclosèd heare -- 
Then came the malediction on the head 
Of whoso dare disturb the sacred dead. 
Outside the mavis whistled strong and clear, 
The winding Avon murmured in its bed, 
But in the solemn Stratford church the air 
Was chill and dank, and on the foot-worn tomb 
The evening shadows deepened momently. 
Then a great awe fell on me, standing there, 
As if some speechless presence in the gloom 
Was hovering, and fain would speak with me.