THE DEAD

by: Jones Very (1813-1880)

SEE them crowd on crowd they walk the earth

Dry, leafless trees no Autumn wind laid bare;

And in their nakedness find cause for mirth,

And all unclad would winter's rudeness dare;

No sap doth through their clattering branches flow,

Whence springing leaves and blossoms bright appear;

Their hearts the living God have ceased to know,

Who gives the springtime to th'expectant year;

They mimic life, as if from him to steal

His glow of health to paint the livid cheek;

They borrow words for thoughts they cannot feel,

That with a seeming heart their tongue may speak;

And in their show of life more dead they live

Than those that to the earth with many tears they give.