I do not think of you lying in the wet clay br Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see br You walking down a lane among the poplars br On your way to the station, or happily br br Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday - br You meet me and you say: br 'Don't forget to see about the cattle - ' br Among your earthiest words the angels stray. br br And I think of you walking along a headland br Of green oats in June, br So full of repose, so rich with life - br And I see us meeting at the end of a town br br On a fair day by accident, after br The bargains are all made and we can walk br Together through the shops and stalls and markets br Free in the oriental streets of thought. br br O you are not lying in the wet clay, br For it is a harvest evening now and we br Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight br And you smile up at us - eternally.