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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
LINES.
You drop a tear for those that die:
To me, yet living, grant a sigh.
Surely they rest: no rest have I.
To me, yet living, grant a sigh.
Surely they rest: no rest have I.
128
The sighing wind dies on the tree.
I cannot sigh: sigh thou for me.
The broken heart is sadly free.
I cannot sigh: sigh thou for me.
The broken heart is sadly free.
You bid me say what I would have:
Will one flower serve? or do I crave
A wreath—to decorate a grave?
Will one flower serve? or do I crave
A wreath—to decorate a grave?
Fling poppies on the grave of Youth:
Fling pansies on the tomb of Truth:
On mine to-morrow morn fling both.
Fling pansies on the tomb of Truth:
On mine to-morrow morn fling both.
All day I sat below your gate,
My spirit calmed by its own weight;
Then Sorrow grew importunate.
My spirit calmed by its own weight;
Then Sorrow grew importunate.
I rose, and on the steps I writ
These fragments of a wildered wit:
To be erased beneath your feet.
These fragments of a wildered wit:
To be erased beneath your feet.
Erase them, haughty feet—I live!
I wished, not hoped, that you might grieve.
You can forget: ah then, forgive!
I wished, not hoped, that you might grieve.
You can forget: ah then, forgive!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |