“I heard a small sad sound, And stood awhile among the tombs around: ‘Wherefore, old friends,’ said I, ‘are you distrest, Now, screened from life’s unrest?’ —‘O not at being here: But that our future second death is near; When, with the living, memory of us numbs, And blank oblivion comes!’ ” —THOMAS HARDY, “THE TO-BE-FORGOTTEN”
