We do lie beneath the grass
    In the moonlight, in the shade
  Of the yew-tree. They that pass
    Hear us not. We are afraid
      They would envy our delight,
      In our graves by glow-worm night.
Come follow us, and smile as we;
    We sail to the rock in the ancient waves,
Where the snow falls by thousands into the sea,
    And the drown'd and the shipwreck'd have happy graves.