1

 

O! I care not that my earthly lot

Hath — little of Earth in it —

That years of love have been forgot

In the fever of a minute —

 

2

 

I heed not that the desolate

Are happier, sweet, than I —

But that you meddle with my fate

Who am a passer-by.

 

3

 

It is not that my founts of bliss

Are gushing — strange! with tears —

Or that the thrill of a single kiss

Hath palsied many years —

 

4

 

‘Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs

Which have wither'd as they rose [page 69:]

Lie dead on my heart-strings

With the weight of an age of snows.

 

5

 

Nor that the grass — O! may it thrive!

On my grave is growing or grown —

But that, while I am dead yet alive

I cannot be, lady, alone.