Helen Hoyt

From “In a Certain City”

KNOW by these lines that she whose bones rest here

Was once a poet. To her were very dear

All lovely words and syllables, and with delight

She wove them into songs. Oh, many a night

She lay with waking eyes, dreaming them in the dark

Of her high city room, or in the dim park

Danced them beside the lake, hearing the waves beat;

Hearing far off the noise of the city, the loud street.

But now she lies in this place where the quiet dead have home,

Where rhythms of wave and words and dancing never come.