Stephen Vincent Benet


They can have the names and the dates, 
It will do them little service. 
They can open the locked chest 
And steal the wine and the gold. 
There is nothing to be said 
But this the clasp of her body 
Was better than milk to the child 
Or wisdom to the old. 

We die with our first breath. 
And, if we die, what matter? 
There was a ghost in the flesh, 
A ghost that went and came. 
Though the moon burn like a lamp 
It will not be that brightness 
I said her name in my sleep, 
Waking, I said her name.