LE JOUR DES MORTS.
AT Paris upon Dead Man’s Day
I danced into the cemetery.
The air was cool; the sun was gay;
The scent of the revolving clay
Made me most wondrous merry.
Earth, after an agonizing bout,
Had swallowed up a widow clean.
The issue hung for long in doubt :—
—QOh! anybody can make out
The mystery I mean.
The dead were dancing with the worms;
The live were laughing with their lemans;
The dead-alive were making terms
With God, and notaries, and germs,
With house-agents and demons.
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