Remember me when I am gone away,Gone far away into the silent land;When you can no more hold me by the hand,Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.Remember me when no more day by dayYou tell me of our future that you planned:Only remember me; you understandIt will be late to counsel then or pray.Yet if you should forget me for a whileAnd afterward remember, do not grieve:For if the darkness and corruption leaveA vestige of the thoughts that once I had,Better by far you should forget and smileThan that you should remember and be sad.
When I am dead, my dearest,Sing no sad songs for me;Plant thou no roses at my head,Nor shady cypress tree:Be the green grass above meWith showers and dewdrops wet:And if thou wilt, remember,And if thou wilt, forget.I shall not see the shadows,I shall not feel the rain;I shall not hear the nightingaleSing on as if in pain:And dreaming through the twilightThat doth not rise nor set,Haply I may remember,And haply I may forget.
I looked for that which is not, nor can be,And hope deferred made my heart sick, in truth;But years must pass before a hope of youthIs resigned utterly.I watched and waited with a steadfast will:And, tho' the object seemed to fly awayThat I so longed for, ever, day by day,I watched and waited still.Sometimes I said,-'This thing shall be no more;My expectation wearies, and shall cease;I will resign it now, and be at peace.'-Yet never gave it o'er.Sometimes I said,-'It is an empty nameI long for; to a name why should I giveThe peace of all the days I have to live?'-Yet gave it all the same.Alas! thou foolish one,- alike unfitFor healthy joy and salutary pain,Thou knowest the chase useless, and againTurnest to follow it.
O cousin Kate, my love was true,Your love was writ in sand:If he had fooled not me but you,If you had stood where i stand,He'd not have won me with his love,Nor bought me with his land;I would have spit into his faceAnd not have taken his hand.Yet I have a gift you have not got,And seem not like to get:For all your clothes and wedding-ringI've little doubt you fret.My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride,Cling closer, closer yet:Your father would give lands for oneto wear his coronet