XXIX
Trying to Forget
Bereaved of all, I went abroad,No less bereaved to beUpon a new peninsula,—The grave preceded me,
Obtained my lodgings ere myself,And when I sought my bed,The grave it was, reposed uponThe pillow for my head.
I waked, to find it first awake,I rose,—it followed me;I tried to drop it in the crowd,To lose it in the sea,
In cups of artificial drowseTo sleep its shape away,—The grave was finished, but the spadeRemained in memory.