1. What ails the graves, they answer not
When mourner calls, his loss to deplore!

2. Holes hid, where crawl the worm and gnat,
And mourner sad, heart-stricken, forlore.

3. And graybeards fill the graves' dark holes.
Full many a friend I've left inside

4. Whose loss has caused my soul to pine.
One here I left, shroud-enwrapped, he died,

5. He was my soul's most cherished vine.
I questioned of him, though I knew

6. We'd meet again right soon, right true.