Bereaved of all, I went abroad,

   No less bereaved to be

Upon a new peninsula, —

   The grave preceded me,

Obtained my lodgings ere myself,

   And when I sought my bed,

The grave it was, reposed upon

   The 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 drowse

   To sleep its shape away, —

The grave was finished, but the spade

   Remained in memory.