WHEN I am dead and buried underground, And your dear eyes still greet the shining day, Will you remember -- "Thus she used to say -- And thus, and thus, her low voice used to sound"? Will memory wander like a ghost around The well-known paths -- tread the accustomed way; Or will you pluck fresh blossoms of the May, And waste no rose upon my burial mound? I would not have your life to sorrow wed -- Your joyous youth grief-stricken for my sake; -- Though black-winged Care her home with you should make, Yet vain would be the scalding tears you shed; And though your heart for love of me should break, How could I hear, or heed, if I were dead? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHADOWS by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR THE KEARSARGE (1894) by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE LEGENDARY LIGHTS by ALTER ABELSON AUTHOR TO HIS CHILD by FRANCES AIRTH PSALM 127 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A CONVENT WITHOUT GOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE EMPTY CUP by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |