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Fernando Pessoa - Sonnet IV
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I could not think of thee as piecèd rot,
Yet such thou wert, for thou hadst been long dead;
Yet thou liv`dst entire in my seeing thought
And what thou wert in me had never fled.
Nay, I had fixed the moments of thy beauty--
Thy ebbing smile, thy kiss`s readiness,
And memory had taught my heart the duty
To know thee ever at that deathlessness.
But when I came where thou wert laid, and saw
The natural flowers ignoring thee sans blame,
And the encroaching grass, with casual flaw,
Framing 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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