Poem of the day-89: "The Grave" by Longfellow

For thee wert born,
Ere thou wert born,
For thee was a mould means
Ere thou of mother camest.
But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen
How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein.
The heel-ways are low.
The side-ways unigh.
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained
And death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell,
And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,
And leavest thy friends;
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,
Who will ever see
How that house pleaseth thee,
Who will ever open
And descend after thee,
The door for thee
For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.