[BNP/E3, 49A2 – 47v]

6-8-10

I could not think of thee as piecèd rot,

Yet such thou wert, for thou |hadst| been long dead;

|But| thou liv'dst ever entire in my seeing thought

|And what thou wert in me had never fled.|

Nay; I had fixed the moments of thy beauty —    Copied

Thy passing smile, thy kiss's readiness;

And memory had taught my heart the duty

To knowing thee ever at that {…} deathlessness.

But when I came where thou wert laid, and saw

The flowers rippling[1] into |stary flame|,

And the encroaching grass into casual flaw,

Aging[2] the stone to age where was thy name,

     I knew not how to feel, nor what to be

     Towards thy fate's material secrecy.

___

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[1] rippling /sparkling\
[2] Aging /Framing\