I br I heard a small sad sound, br And stood awhile among the tombs around: br "Wherefore, old friends," said I, "are you distrest, br Now, screened from life's unrest?" br br II br --"O not at being here; br But that our future second death is near; br When, with the living, memory of us numbs, br And blank oblivion comes! br br III br "These, our sped ancestry, br Lie here embraced by deeper death than we; br Nor shape nor thought of theirs can you descry br With keenest backward eye. br br IV br "They count as quite forgot; br They are as men who have existed not; br Theirs is a loss past loss of fitful breath; br It is the second death. br br V br "We here, as yet, each day br Are blest with dear recall; as yet, can say br We hold in some soul loved continuance br Of shape and voice and glance. br br VI br "But what has been will be -- br First memory, then oblivion's swallowing sea; br Like men foregone, shall we merge into those br Whose story no one knows. br br VII br "For which of us could hope br To show in life that world-awakening scope br Granted the few whose memory none lets die, br But all men magnify? br br VIII br "We were but Fortune's sport; br Things true, things lovely, things of good report br We neither shunned nor sought ... We see our bourne, br And seeing it we mourn.