OUT from the City?s dust and roar, You wandered through the open door; Paused at a plaything pail and spade Across a tiny hillock laid; Then noted on your dexter side Some moneyed mourner?s ?love or pride;? And so,?beyond a hawthorn-tree, Showering its rain of rosy bloom Alike on low and lofty tomb,? You came upon it?suddenly. How strange! The very grasses? growth Around it seemed forlorn and loath; The very ivy seemed to turn Askance that wreathed the neighbor urn. The slab had sunk; the head declined, And left the rails a wreck behind. No name; you traced a ?6,??a ?7,?? Part of ?affliction? and of ?Heaven;? And then, in letters sharp and clear, You read?O Irony austere!? ?Tho? lost to Sight, to Mem?ry dear.?