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...INDIAN SUMMER by SARA TEASDALE ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE MILKMAID'S SONG by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL LOVE SONGS TO JOANNES by MINA LOY THE TARRY BUCCANEER by JOHN MASEFIELD THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 86. LOST DAYS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE THREE BEST THING: 1. WORK by HENRY VAN DYKE COUNTRY DOCTOR by DANA KNEELAND AKERS LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 6. SPRING by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |