I know that thou wilt sorrow, when first I pass from earth,
And at thy pale and quivering lip shall gleam no sign of mirth,
For grief shall sit upon thy brow, in sad, unseemly guise,
And tears, e’en though thou art a man, shall well up to thine eyes.
For each young plant, each speaking flower, and old familiar place
Will seem to gaze with sadness, up to thine averted face;
And when, perchance, another hand my own sweet chords shall sweep,
Thou’lt list to those remembered tones, and turn aside and weep!
And when another’s thoughtless voice, shall breathe to thee my name,
And whisper that the sound was linked with an undying fame,
No pride shall mantle o’er thy cheek, nor darkle in thine eye,
For idle words breathed of the dead, should pass as idly by.
Thou’lt miss my step at even, when thou drawest near thy home,
When gleam the ever-sleepless stars, from yon eternal dome;
And thou wilt sit and gaze at them, nor shall thou gaze unmoved,
For, oh! thou’lt think, that I too well their startling beauty loved!
Thou’lt miss me, and will seek to claim the tempest of thy soul,
For passions all untamed as those, shall bend to thy control;
And grief, that erst sat on thy brow, thou’lt spurn from out thy
heart,
And with each old remembrancer most willingly will part.
When my dim-remembered features shall pass from memory,
When the music of my name, shall wake no answering melody,
Thou wilt turn thee to another, and she will be to thee,
E’en all that I have ever been,—all I could hope to be!
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