My lover died a century ago,
Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath,
Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know The peace of death.
Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep,
Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!"How should they know the vigils that I keep, The tears I shed?
Upon the grave,
I count with lifeless breath,
Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die,
Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death, More blest than I.'Twas just last year — I heard two lovers
So near,
I caught the tender words he said:
To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass Above his head.
That night full envious of his life was I,
That youth and love should stand at his behest;
To-night,
I envy him, that he should lie At utter rest.
