Will You Step Into My Grave, Sir? by Conrad Aiken

Will you step into my grave, sir? said the digger to the dead:

You will find it quite as restful, sir, as any human bed;

There’ll be lilacs at the head of you and violets at your feet,

In June the grass will cover you; and the snow will be your sheet.
The rain will thrill a song for you, the wind will tell a tale,

The willow roots will wrap your heart and hold and never fail,

And time will soon forget you, and yourself, forgetting time,

Will climb to sun and flash with leaves and fall again and climb.
I will stretch your bones out straightly, and lay you softly down,

And crown the fever of your days with slumber for a crown.

And none shall come to trouble you, and none shall call your name—

You shall not start at sound of love, nor stir at sound of blame…
Will you step into my grave, sir? said the digger to the dead—

It is more soft and quiet, far, than any human bed…

There’ll be oak trees at the head of you, and willows at the feet,

The blackbirds will sing for you, the snow will be your sheet.