No, mother,
I am not sad: Why think me sad?
I was always still, You remember, even when my heart was most glad And you used to let me dream at my will; And now I like better to watch the sea And the calm sad sky than to laugh with the rest. You know they are full of chatter and glee, And I like the quietness best. Nay, mother, you look so grave. I know what you're thinking and will not say; But you need not fear;
I am growing brave Now that the pain is passing away, And I never weep for him now when alone, For perhaps it was better — who can tell? — That it ended so.
I shall soon be well Now that the hardest is known. I am so much stronger to-day I can look at all past and think how it grew And how by degrees it faded away, That light of my life.
Ah! when I first knew I had only been a plaything to him Through all my loving, it seemed so strange. If the high noontide at once grew night-dim It would not be such a change. I wonder I did not die. Mother,
I'll own it you now I am strong, I used to wake in the night and lie Wishing and wishing it might not be long — Oh! it was wicked, and you all so kind, How could I wish to bring you a grief? But too much unhappiness makes one blind To all but one's own relief. I am not so wicked now; You need not fear.
I am hoping that still, I am learning to lean on God, and I bow, Yes I think I bow my heart to His will. I found it a long hard struggle to make, To clasp my sorrow and say "It is best," But, believe it, you need not fear for my sake; Yes, mother,
I am at rest: Yet, listen, if I should die soon — And I know what they say, though you hide it from me — Mother, you'll grant me my last-asked boon, That you'll try not to think it his fault, and if he, Mother, if he should seek you some day, You will not make him a hard reply, But tell him, before I passed away, I sent him kind good-bye. Mother, kiss me, do not cry. I could not keep from speaking of this; It is nothing to say "If I should die," It cannot bring death more near than it is; And I am much stronger.
You shall not weep — Who is it tells me that weeping is wrong? But let me lean on your lap and sleep, I lay waking last night too long.
