There is no time for visiting the dead—
Besides, they are so many. If you tried
To shutter half your days in cypress glooms
Learning the old faint hopes of lonely tombs,
Still, days being brief, you must needs leave unread
The dream of one lost snowdrop at your side.
This is enough. The days brimmed blue for them.
Sometimes the most forgotten drained that cup.
Sometimes an evening's misty diadem
Of consummate pearl lifted the stilled heart up—
Ah, more than yours can be, who bring but pity
Into that silent and sufficing city.
So frail a moon hung once. If you would give
Peace to the dead, go hence, learn how to live.