Voices From Things Growing in a Churchyard Gerald Finzi

These flowers are I, poor Fanny Hurd
Sir or Madam
A little girl here sepultured
Once I flit-fluttered like a bird
Above the grass, as now I wave
In daisy shapes above my grave
All day cheerily
All night eerily!

- I am one Bachelor Bowring, "Gent,"
Sir or Madam;
In shingled oak my bones were pent;
Hence more than a hundred years I spent
In my feat of change from a coffin-thrall
To a dancer in green as leaves on a wall
All day cheerily
All night eerily!

- I, these berries of juice and gloss
Sir or Madam
Am clean forgotten as Thomas Voss;
Thin-urned, I have burrowed away from the moss
That covers my sod, and have entered this yew
And turned to clusters ruddy of view
All day cheerily
All night eerily!