If I were dead, with tangled grass above me,
The darkness of the grave between us set,
I sometimes wonder what your thoughts would be
Of one who loved you so; should you regret
That love which now you more than half despise?
If I were lying silent 'neath the skies
I think that soon you would my name forget.
I know that I am nothing in your life,
Why should an echo come if I were dead?
At peace, and resting from all earthly strife,
Why should the memory of my words once said,
Words that you scarcely paused awhile to hear,
Haunt you thus after, were I no more near.
But lying hush'd within my narrow bed?
Yet it is possible that some chance word,
Spoken by other lips might wake again
The little reck'd-of-past, in which you heard
My voice; and told me that my love was vain.
You could not stoop unto so low a thing,
And counted but a dross all I could bring,
Ah, death itself could never heal that pain.
No, even death can give to me no peace,
I was not made as people who forget:
Through life and onwards, I can never cease
To know that you, who love me not, are set
Forever in my heart; and I must stand
Within your shadow with an empty hand,
Yet never deem that I can it regret.
I am not worthy to be lov'd by you,
And knowing this, must bear the bitter pain
Of feeling that my love is unto you
Only an irksome weight. Will it be vain
When we stand face to face on that far shore,
Shall you turn from me then for evermore?
Yes, there in Heaven your love I may not gain.
