DEAR, when you see my grave, Oh, shall you weep? Ah, no! That were to have Mistaken care; But when you see my grave, I pray you keep Sunshine of heart that time doth lay me there, Where veiling mists of dream guard endless sleep. Though the young life we mourn That, blooming, dies, -- Ere grief hath made forlorn This other face, -- Still sadder are the eyes, The cheeks more worn Than show the dead, of those who seek love's grace; Death is the gentlest of the world's replies. |