I I Heard A Small Sad Sound, And Stood Awhile Amid The Tombs Around: "Wherefore, Old Friends," Said I, "Are Ye Distrest, Now, Screened From Life'S Unrest?" Ii - "O Not At Being Here; But That Our Future Second Death Is Drear; When, With The Living, Memory Of Us Numbs, And Blank Oblivion Comes! Iii "Those Who Our Grandsires Be Lie Here Embraced By Deeper Death Than We; Nor Shape Nor Thought Of Theirs Canst Thou Descry With Keenest Backward Eye. Iv "They Bide As Quite Forgot; They Are As Men Who Have Existed Not; Theirs Is A Loss Past Loss Of Fitful Breath; It Is The Second Death. V "We Here, As Yet, Each Day Are Blest With Dear Recall; As Yet, Alway In Some Soul Hold A Loved Continuance Of Shape And Voice And Glance. Vi "But What Has Been Will Be - First Memory, Then Oblivion'S Turbid Sea; Like Men Foregone, Shall We Merge Into Those Whose Story No One Knows. Vii "For Which Of Us Could Hope To Show In Life That World-Awakening Scope Granted The Few Whose Memory None Lets Die, But All Men Magnify? Viii "We Were But Fortune'S Sport; Things True, Things Lovely, Things Of Good Report We Neither Shunned Nor Sought . . . We See Our Bourne, And Seeing It We Mourn."