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."

In the wild autumn weather a dread sword slipped from its sheath; While the boughs sobbed together, I fought a fight with Death, And I vanquished him with prayer, and I vanquished him by faith: Now the summer air is sweet with the rose's fragrant breath That conquered Death.

Rosa Mulholland [18--1921]

TO ONE IN PARADISE

Thou wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine: A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!

Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise But to be overcast!

A voice from out of the Future cries, "On! on!"--but o'er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast.

For, alas! alas! with me The light of Life is o'er!

No more--no more--no more-- (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the sh.o.r.e) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar.

And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams-- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.

Edgar Allan Poe [1809-1849]

ANNABEL LEE

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulcher In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me; Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride, In the sepulcher there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Edgar Allan Poe [1809-1849]

FOR ANNIE

Thank Heaven! the crisis-- The danger is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last-- And the fever called "Living"

Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length: But no matter--I feel I am better at length.