Page:Poems Welby.djvu/112

And then if thou shouldst woo another
    To be thy bride,
Although my thoughts I cannot smother,
    I will not chide.

But should'st thou hear that grief is paling
    My young cheek's bloom,
That Death my slender form is veiling
    For the dark tomb—

Then let thy lip be softly sighing
    Like a low lute,
Breathing its music o'er the dying
    For sweet lips mute.

And when these hands thou 'st clasped so often
    Are cold and chill,
And this warm heart no tone can soften
    To love's sweet thrill—

Then, though light airy forms assemble
    Where thine will be,
I know thy heart will softly tremble
    Still true to me.