In a disused graveyard in the town of York, I found where rabbits had come to play. They leaped across a single stone, Marked with the name of one long-hearted, Whose life of wildness now lay still, Starved out in the open, without theft or toil.

Underneath the changing skies, I watched their moves, their bounce and styles, Excited little lives of velvet gray, On the grave of manfully penned over, In stark ribbings, once painted bones.

I could have closed my eyes in envy, But a harmony arose and sang, The urge to sway and leap with play, And so at dusk the tombs played me. And I a gallivant of light and shade.

• Robert Frost