FINIS by JOHN COWPER POWYS

On softly stepping feet
She has gone to seek her dead.
What will she do when she finds how deep
They have buried so dear a head?

She will go to the cowslips then
And the cuckoo-flowers so pale.
In the cold wet dawn she will go,
When the mist is on the vale.

And lying prone on the ground,
While the white clouds over her pass,
Thro' her loosened hair she will hear the sound
Of the worms beneath the grass.

And the touch of that cold earth-bed
And the cowslips against her cheek
Will leave on her mouth the kiss of her dead,
And she will no further seek.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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