Volume Ii Part 144 (1/2)

SONG

When I am dead, my dearest.

Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress-tree: Be the green gra.s.s above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember And haply may forget.

Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894]

SARRAZINE'S SONG TO HER DEAD LOVER From ”Chaitivel”

Hath any loved you well, down there, Summer or winter through?

Down there, have you found any fair Laid in the grave with you?

Is death's long kiss a richer kiss Than mine was wont to be-- Or have you gone to some far bliss And quite forgotten me?

What soft enamoring of sleep Hath you in some soft way?

What charmed death holdeth you with deep Strange lure by night and day?

--A little s.p.a.ce below the gra.s.s, Out of the sun and shade; But worlds away from me, alas, Down there where you are laid?

My bright hair's waved and wasted gold, What is it now to thee-- Whether the rose-red life I hold Or white death holdeth me?

Down there you love the grave's own green, And evermore you rave Of some sweet seraph you have seen Or dreamt of in the grave.

There you shall lie as you have lain, Though in the world above, Another life you live again, Loving again your love: Is it not sweet beneath the palm?

Is not the warm day rife With some long mystic golden calm Better than love and life?

The broad quaint odorous leaves like hands Weaving the fair day through, Weave sleep no burnished bird withstands, While death weaves sleep for you; And many a strange rich breathing sound Ravishes morn and noon: And in that place you must have found Death a delicious swoon.

Hold me no longer for a word I used to say or sing: Ah, long ago you must have heard So many a sweeter thing: For rich earth must have reached your heart And turned the faith to flowers; And warm wind stolen, part by part, Your soul through faithless hours.

And many a soft seed must have won Soil of some yielding thought, To bring a bloom up to the sun That else had ne'er been brought; And, doubtless, many a pa.s.sionate hue Hath made that place more fair, Making some pa.s.sionate part of you Faithless to me down there.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1884]

LOVE AND DEATH

In the wild autumn weather, when the rain was on the sea, And the boughs sobbed together, Death came and spake to me: ”Those red drops of thy heart I have come to take from thee; As the storm sheds the rose, so thy love shall broken be,”

Said Death to me.

Then I stood straight and fearless while the rain was in the wave, And I spake low and tearless: ”When thou hast made my grave, Those red drops from my heart then thou shalt surely have; But the rose keeps its bloom, as I my love will save All for my grave.”