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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509055" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Shakespeare’s Grave</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509055" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Doggerel,' he thought, 'will do for church-wardens,<br>Poetry's precious enough not to be wasted,'<br>And rhymed it all out with a skew smile:<br>'Spare these stones. Curst be he that moves my bones-<br>Will hold the hands of masons and grave-diggers.'<br>But why did the good man care? For he wanted quietness.<br>He had tasted enough life in his time<br>To stuff a thousand; he wanted not to swim wide<br>In waters, nor wander the enormous air,<br>Nor grow into grass, enter through the mouths of cattle<br>The bodies of lusty women and warriors,<br>But all be finished. He knew it feelingly; the game<br>Of the whirling circles had become tiresome.<br>'Annihilation's impossible, but insulated<br>In the church under the rhyming flagstone<br>Perhaps my passionate ruins may be kept off market<br>To the end of this age. Oh, a thousand years<br>Will hardly leach,' he thought, 'this dust of that fire.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Robinson+Jeffers">Robinson Jeffers</a></strong></div>

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