Mourn not for me when I am gone away,
Nor shed sad tears that I should be alone
Beneath the grasses where the flowers are grown,
Where all is silence and there is no day;
Do not lament me, or with sorrow say:
— Now she is gone, oh, greatly must we weep. —
For wrapped in my interminable sleep
There will be no sharp, quivering breeze of May,
Or blossom-stir, or sight of things too fair.
(A twilit pluméd red-bird on the wing)
To trouble my long tranquil slumbering;
Yea, I shall be at rest who had to bear
Beauty too keen and pain that had no end;
Earth will have taken me again to friend.