The air is damp, and hushíd, and close,
As a sick manís room when he taketh repose
An hour before death;
My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves
At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,
And the breath
Of the fading edges of box beneath,
And the yearís last rose.
Heavily hangs the broad sunflower
Over its grave ií the earth so chilly;
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.