Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes and through old woods, (where lately the violets peep'd 
  from the ground, spotting the gray debris;
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes --
  passing the endless grass;
Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud
  in the dark-brown fields uprising,
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards;
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.