 | Poems |  |
LAST WORDS.
Dear hearts, whose love has been so sweet to know,That I am looking backward as I go,
Am lingering while I haste, and in this rain
Of tears of joy am mingling tears of pain;
Do not adorn with costly shrub, or tree,
Or flower, the little grave which shelters me.
Let the wild wind-sown seeds grow up unharmed,
And back and forth all summer, unalarmed,
Let all the tiny, busy creatures creep;
Let the sweet grass its last year's tangles keep;
And when, remembering me, you come some day
And stand there, speak no praise, but only say,
“How she loved us! 'T was that which made her dear!”
Those are the words that I shall joy to hear.
| Poems | |