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).
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