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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889

A Lost Graveyard

By John James Piatt (1835–1917)

NEAR by, a soundless road is seen, o’ergrown with grass and brier;

Far off, the highway’s signal flies—a hurrying dust of fire.

But here among forgotten graves, in June’s delicious breath,

I linger where the living loved to dream of lovely death.

Worn letters, lit with heavenward thought, these crumbled headstones wear;

Fresh flowers (old epitaphs of Love) are fragrant here and there.

Years, years ago, these graves were made—no mourners come to-day:

Their footsteps vanished, one by one, moving the other way.

Through the loud world they walk, or lie—like those here left at rest—

With two long-folded useless arms on each forgotten breast.