Henry Newbolt

Among the Tombs

She is a lady fair and wise,
  Her heart her counsel keeps,
And well she knows of time that flies
  And tide that onward sweeps;
But still she sits with restless eyes
  Where Memory sleeps---
  Where Memory sleeps.

Ye that have heard the whispering dead
  In every wind that creeps,
Or felt the stir that strains the lead
  Beneath the mounded heaps,
Tread softly, ah! more softly tread
  Where Memory sleeps---
  Where Memory sleeps.