Frederick Philip Grove
THE DIRGE
(IM 15, 1-33)

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e-Edition by Gaby Divay
© August 2007

University of Manitoba Libraries	FPG & FrL Collections	University of Manitoba Archives

IV. "So this is..."[2] by Frederick Philip Grove So this is where you sleep, my tender child? Here on this hill--the woods press from all sides; The road loops by; it is the ancient wild: The raven croaks, wolves bark, a squirrel chides. And this is where you sleep who never were Alone in life but there was someone near As you ran round the bush to worry ere In play and frolic you did reappear? So this is where you sleep? Here will I sit And, pondering, still will bear you company. The flowered mound, the carven stone are fit, Commemorating that you used to be. Yes, this is where you sleep! And you are merged In that vast host of whom these crosses tell; For more are dead than live; if they all surged Back to life, they would fill plain and dell. Sleep without fear, my child, not long alone: For there is room for me, too, in that throng. Some quarry even now grows my own stone. Here will I come; nor will I tarry long. In Memoriam 15/4