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Compensation BY MUNA LEE I shall not grieve that you are dead. I sing to you when the stars hang low; And though I sang till dawn were red, You still must hear, you could not go. You are contented, being dead — You who were used to wander far. Now I plant flowers at your head, And steal out nightly where you are. Ah, once you wandered far and long. And left me waiting hopeless here. Though I sent you my breaking heart in a song, You were too far — you could not hear. Now it is I could go oversea, And though I stayed till years were sped, You would lie peaceful, waiting me. I shall not grieve that you are dead. — From Poetry (1917). |
The Lover Turns in His Grave BY JOHN MCCLURE You must not remember The dear things I said. Please forget me, lady, Since I am dead. Like a dream at twilight, Like a mist of dawn, I am dead and gone, lady, I am dead and gone. You must not remember. Please, please forget. You can find a lover Kindlier yet. I cannot hear your mourning, Nor know the tears you shed. Please forget me, lady, Since I am dead. — From Airs and Ballads (1918). |