| Well it has come and has gone, I have some pride, you the same; You will scarce put willow on, I will have buried a name. |
| A stone, “Hic Jacet”—no more; Let the world wonder at will; You have the key to the door, I have the cenotaph still. |
| A tear—one tear, is it much, Dropped on a desert of pain? Had you one passionate touch Of Nature there had been rain. |
| Purpose, oh no, there was none! You could not know if you would; You were the innocent one. Malice? Nay, you were too good. |
| Hearts should not be in your way, You must pass on, and you did; Ah, did I hurt you? you say: Hurt me? Why, Heaven forbid! |
| Inquisitorial ways Might have hurt, truly, but this, Done in these wise latter days, It was too sudden, I wis. |
| “Painless and pleasing,” this is No bad advertisement, true; Painless extinction was his, And it was pleasing-to you. |
| Still, when the surgery’s done (That is the technical term), Which has lost most, which has won? Rise now, and truly affirm. |
| You carry still what we call (Poets are dreamy we know) A heart, well, ‘tis yours after all, And time hath its wonders, I trow. |
| You may look back with your eyes Turned to the dead of the Past, And find with a sad surprise, That yours is the dead at the last. |
| Seeing afar in the sands, Gardens grown green, at what cost! You may reach upward your hands, Praying for what you have lost. |