Long had I lain thus, craving death, When quietly the earth beneath Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight, Into the earth I sank till I Full six feet under ground did lie, And sank no more,—there is no weight Can follow here, however great. From off my breast I felt it roll, And as it went my tortured soul Burst forth and fled in such a gust That all about me swirled the dust. Deep in the earth I rested now; Cool is its hand upon the brow And soft its breast beneath the head Of one who is so gladly dead. And all at once, and over all The pitying rain began to fall; I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof, And seemed to love the sound far more Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound To one who’s six feet under ground; And scarce the friendly voice or face: A grave is such a quiet place.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay (Renascence)