What care the Dead, for Chanticleer - What care the Dead for Day? 'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face - And Purple Ribaldry - of Morning Pour as blank on them As on the Tier of Wall The Mason builded, yesterday, And equally as cool -
What care the Dead for Summer? The Solstice had no Sun Could melt the Snow before their Gate - And knew One Bird a Tune -
Could thrill their Mortised Ear Of all the Birds that be - This One - beloved of Mankind Henceforward cherished be -
What care the Dead for Winter? Themselves as easy freeze - June Noon - as January Night - As soon the South - her Breeze
Of Sycamore - or Cinnamon - Deposit in a Stone And put a Stone to keep it Warm - Give Spices - unto Men.
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