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AT THE LAST.
AT THE LAST.
OME once, just once, dear love, when I am dead,—Ah God, I would it were this hour, to-night,—
And look your last upon the frozen face
That was to you a summer's brief delight.
The silent lips will not entreat you then,
Nor the eyes vex you with unwelcome tears:
The low, sad voice will utter no complaint,
Nor the heart tremble with its restless fears.
Nor the eyes vex you with unwelcome tears:
The low, sad voice will utter no complaint,
Nor the heart tremble with its restless fears.
I shall be still,—you will forgive me then
For all that I have been, or failed to be,—
Say, as you look, "Poor Heart, she loved me well;
No other love will be so true to me."
For all that I have been, or failed to be,—
Say, as you look, "Poor Heart, she loved me well;
No other love will be so true to me."
