Page:Hand in hand; (IA handinhand00kipl).pdf/89



N English grave 'neath Indian skies, Marked by a sullen stone: And this is where Rose Aylmer lies, Far, flowerless, and alone. Rose Aylmer was a poet's love, Sweet, beautiful, and young. Her elegy, in melody, The poet-lover sung.

About her grave no flowers grow, No pleasant boughs are stirred: No gentle sun, no quiet snow, No English bee or bird. The suns of springtime scorch the stone, In summer, storm and rave The winds that herald the cyclone, The rains that lash the grave.