Your Last Drive

Here by the moorway you returned,

And saw the borough lights

That lit your face — all

To be in a week the face of the dead,

And you told of the charm of that haloed

That never again would beam on you.

And on your left you passed the

Where eight days later you were to lie,

And be spoken of as one who was not;

Beholding it with a cursory

As alien from you, though under its

You soon would halt everlastingly.

I drove not with you….

Yet had I

At your side that eve I should not have

That the countenance I was glancing

Had a last-time look in the flickering sheen,

Nor have read the writing upon your face,'I go hence soon to my resting-place;'You may miss me then.

But I shall not

How many times you visit me there,

Or what your thoughts are, or if you

There never at all.

And I shall not care.

Should you censure me I shall take no

And even your praises I shall not need.'True: never you'll know.

And you will not mind.

But shall I then slight you because of such?

Dear ghost, in the past did you ever

Me one whom consequence influenced much?

Yet the fact indeed remains the same,

You are past love, praise, indifference, blame.