Voices from things growing in a Churchyard

These flowers are I, poor Fanny Hurd,
&nbsp 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,
&nbsp All day cheerily,
&nbsp All night eerily!

- I am one Bachelor Bowring, “Gent,”
&nbsp 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.
&nbsp All day cheerily,
&nbsp All night eerily!

- I, these berries of juice and gloss,
&nbsp 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,
&nbsp All day cheerily,
&nbsp All night eerily!

- The Lady Gertrude, proud, high-bred,
&nbsp Sir or Madam,
Am I - this laurel that shades your head;
Into its veins I have stilly sped,
And made them of me; and my leaves now shine,
As did my satins superfine,
&nbsp All day cheerily,
&nbsp All night eerily!

- I, who as innocent withwind climb,
&nbsp Sir or Madam.
Am one Eve Greensleeves, in olden time
Kissed by men from many a clime,
Beneath sun, stars, in blaze, in breeze,
As now by glowworms and by bees,
&nbsp All day cheerily,
&nbsp All night eerily!

- I’m old Squire Audeley Grey, who grew,
&nbsp Sir or Madam,
Aweary of life, and in scorn withdrew;
Till anon I clambered up anew
As ivy-green, when my ache was stayed,
And in that attire I have longtime gayed
&nbsp All day cheerily,
&nbsp All night eerily!

- And so they breathe, these masks, to each
&nbsp Sir or Madam
Who lingers there, and their lively speech
Affords an interpreter much to teach,
As their murmurous accents seem to come
Thence hitheraround in a radiant hum,
&nbsp All day cheerily,
&nbsp All night eerily!