9 May: "From The Grave" by Robert Blair

From The Grave By Robert Blair 

Dull Grave!—thou spoil'st the dance of youthful blood, 

Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, 

And every smirking feature from the face; 

Branding our laughter with the name of madness. 

Where are the jesters now? the men of health 

Complexionally pleasant? Where the droll, 

Whose every look and gesture was a joke 

To clapping theatres and shouting crowds, 

And made even thick-lipp'd musing 

Melancholy To gather up her face into a smile 

Before she was aware? Ah! sullen now, 

And dumb as the green turf that covers them.