Tuscan Cypress
Nay; I shall wander on beneath the moon
A lonely phantom seeking for you, soon;
A wandering ghost, seeking you timidly.
Whom you will tremble, dear, and start to see!
vii.
When I am dead and I am quite forgot.
What care I if my spirit lives or dies?
To walk with angels in a grassy plot.
And pluck the lilies grown in Paradise?
Ah, no! the heaven of all my heart has been
To hear your voice and catch the sighs between.
Ah, no! the better heaven I fain would give,
But in a cranny of your soul to live.
viii.
Ah me, you well might wait a little while,
And not forget me Sweet, until I die!
I had a home, a little distant isle,
With shadowy trees and tender misty sky.
I had a home! It was less dear than thou.
And I forgot, as you forget me now.
I had a home, more dear than I could tell.
And I forgot, but now remember well.
ix.
Love me to-day and think not on to-morrow!
Come, take my hands, and lead me out of doors,
There in the fields let us forget our sorrow.
Talking of Venice and Ionian shores;—
Talking of all the seas innumerable
Where we will sail and sing when I am well;
Talking of Indian roses gold and red.
Which we will plait in wreaths—when I am dead.
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