Freedom

We who are mourners make no moan For the Body lost in the grave, For the Soul is a shining wave And the Body is but a stone Dragged out in the under tow And tossed by the waves to and fro, And worn and tormented and cast Back again on the rocks at last.

Ah, the body lost in the grave Is freed from the tyrant soul, Delivered from wind and wave. Current and quicksand and shoal. Freed from the cruel sea ... . But the spirit is never free .... There is no truce in that war Of the tides that clash near the shore.

Quietly under the green roof Does the worn-out body lie, With a shadow of strange reproof The soul wonders it could die— Wonders that her slave is dead, Has no need of daily bread, Free as dust and free as air, With nothing in the world to bear.