On your grave beneath the chestnut bough
Today no fragrance falls nor summer air
Only a Masters love who laid you there
Perchance may warm the air 'neath which you drowse
in dreams from which no meal times will rouse
Unwakeable, though close the rat may dare,
Deaf, though the rabbit thump in playful scare,
Silent, though twenty foxes screech their vows
And yet mayhap, some night when shadows pass,
And from the fir the brown owl hoots on high
That should one whistle 'neath a favouring star
Your shade shall canter over the grass
Questing for him you loved in days gone by