My Last Will

When I am safely laid away,     Out of work and out of play,     Sheltered by the kindly ground    From the world of sight and sound,     One or two of those I leave     Will remember me and grieve,     Thinking how I made them gay     By the things I used to say;     — But the crown of their distress   Will be my untidiness.   What a nuisance then will be   All that shall remain of me!   Shelves of books I never read,   Piles of bills, undocketed,   Shaving-brushes, razors, strops,   Bottles that have lost their tops,   Boxes full of odds and ends,   Letters from departed friends,   Faded ties and broken braces   Tucked away in secret places,   Baggy trousers, ragged coats,   Stacks of ancient lecture-notes,   And that ghostliest of shows,   Boots and shoes in horrid rows.   Though they are of cheerful mind,   My lovers, whom I leave behind,   When they find these in my stead,   Will be sorry I am dead.   They will grieve; but you, my dear,   Who have never tasted fear,   Brave companion of my youth,   Free as air and true as truth,   Do not let these weary things   Rob you of your junketings.   Burn the papers; sell the books;   Clear out all the pestered nooks;   Make a mighty funeral pyre   For the corpse of old desire,   Till there shall remain of it   Naught but ashes in a pit:   And when you have done away   All that is of yesterday,   If you feel a thrill of pain,   Master it, and start again.   This, at least, you have never done   Since you first beheld the sun:   If you came upon your own   Blind to light and deaf to tone,   Basking in the great release   Of unconsciousness and peace,   You would never, while you live,   Shatter what you cannot give;   — Faithful to the watch you keep,   You would never break their sleep.   Clouds will sail and winds will blow   As they did an age ago   O'er us who lived in little towns   Underneath the Berkshire downs.   When at heart you shall be sad,   Pondering the joys we had,   Listen and keep very still.   If the lowing from the hill   Or the tolling of a bell   Do not serve to break the spell,   Listen; you may be allowed   To hear my laughter from a cloud.   Take the good that life can give   For the time you have to live.  Friends of yours and friends of mine   Surely will not let you pine.   Sons and daughters will not spare   More than friendly love and care.   If the Fates are kind to you,   Some will stay to see you through;   And the time will not be long   Till the silence ends the song.   Sleep is God's own gift; and man,   Snatching all the joys he can,   Would not dare to give his voice   To reverse his Maker's choice.   Brief delight, eternal quiet,   How change these for endless riot   Broken by a single rest?   Well you know that sleep is best.   We that have been heart to heart   Fall asleep, and drift apart.   Will that overwhelming tide   Reunite us, or divide?   Whence we come and whither go   None can tell us, but I know   Passion's self is often marred   By a kind of self-regard,   And the torture of the cry   "You are you, and I am I."   While we live, the waking sense   Feeds upon our difference,   In our passion and our pride   Not united, but allied.   We are severed by the sun,   And by darkness are made one.