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Edith Nesbit - The Treasure
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UNDER our lead we lie 
While the sun and the snow go by, 
        And our shrouds lie close, lie close, 
        Like the leaves of a shut white rose 
        That knows not what summer knows 
Before it is time to die. 


You, in the sun, up there 
Where the wild thyme scents the air; 
        Is it warm still--and sweet and gay 
        Up there in the wide blue day? 
        Do you pity us, shut away 
From the fields where the flowers are fair? 


Pity us here? shut in 
In the dark, where the flowers begin? 
        The coins lie light on our eyes, 
        In our empty hands is the prize, 
        The treasure that fools and wise 
Are breaking their hearts to win!
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