Had I a claim to fame? Little to honor; Save when I spoke her name, Gazing upon her. Then was I crowned of men, More than my seeming. Youth's glorious hope again Bannered my dreaming. So, when our day is past; When we lie stilly Under the earth at last, Clod by white lily. Give me neither tear nor sigh; Breathe but this in passing by Where empearled with morning dew The high grass above her Waves, and above me too,— "He was her lover!" |