Menken, Adah Isaacs
Look at these tear-drops
See how they quiver and die on your open hands.
Fold these white garments close to my breast, while I
Would you have me think that from the warm shelter
of your heart I must go to the grave?
And when I am lying in my silent shroud, will you love
When I am buried down in the cold, wet earth, will
you grieve that you did not save me?
Will your tears reach my pale face through all the
withered leaves that will heap themselves upon my grave?
Will you repent that you loosened your arms to let me
fall so deep, and so far out of sight?
Will you come and tell me so, when the coffin has shut
out the storm?
Oh, answer me!