I could not think of thee as piecèd rot,
Yet such thou wert, for thou hadst been long dead;
Yet thou liv'dst entire in my seeing thought
And what thou wert in me had never fle
Nay, I had fixed the moments of thy beauty —
Thy ebbing smile, thy kiss's readiness,
And memory had taught my heart the duty
To know thee ever at that deathlessnes
But when I came where thou wert laid, and saw
The natural flowers ignoring thee sans blame,
And the encroacbing grass, with casual flaw,
Framing the stone to age where was thy name, 
 I knew not how to feel, nor what to be 
 Towards thy fate's material secrec