Alice has a prarie grave. The King and Queen lie low, And aged Grandma Silver Dreams, Four toombstones in a row. But still in snow and sunshine Stands our ancestral hall. Agate is the dome, Cornelian the wall. And legends walk about, And proverbs, with proud airs.
Ghouls are in the cellar, But fays upon the stairs.
Vachel Lindsay Poets' Corner .