Page:The Pot of Earth.pdf/58

 Voices of the sea. Come home, Come to your house. Come home. She heard A slow crying in the sea, Come home, Come to your house—

Go secretly and put me in the ground— Go before the moon uncovers, Go where now no night wind hovers, Say no word above me, make no sound. Heap only on my buried bones Cold sand and naked stones And come away and leave unmarked the mound. Let not those silent hunters hear you pass: Let not the trees know, nor the thirsty grass, Nor secret rain