The To-be-forgotten

Thomas Hardy

I
        I heard a small sad sound,
And stood awhile among the tombs around:
"Wherefore, old friends," said I, "are you distrest,
        Now, screened from life's unrest?"

II
        —"O not at being here;
But that our future second death is near;
When, with the living, memory of us numbs,
        And blank oblivion comes!

III
        "These, our sped ancestry,
Lie here embraced by deeper death than we;
Nor shape nor thought of theirs can you descry
        With keenest backward eye.

IV
        "They count as quite forgot;
They are as men who have existed not;
Theirs is a loss past loss of fitful breath;
        It is the second death.

V
        "We here, as yet, each day
Are blest with dear recall; as yet, can say
We hold in some soul loved continuance
        Of shape and voice and glance.

VI
        "But what has been will be —
First memory, then oblivion's swallowing sea;
Like men foregone, shall we merge into those
        Whose story no one knows.

VII
        "For which of us could hope
To show in life that world-awakening scope
Granted the few whose memory none lets die,
        But all men magnify?

VIII
        "We were but Fortune's sport;
Things true, things lovely, things of good report
We neither shunned nor sought ... We see our bourne,
        And seeing it we mourn."