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He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead
| Were you but lying cold and dead, | | And lights were paling out of the West, | | You would come hither, and
bend your head, | | And I would lay my head on your breast; | | And you would murmur tender words, | | Forgiving
me, because you were dead: | | Nor would you rise and hasten away, | | Though you have the will of the wild
birds, | | But know your hair was bound and wound | | About the stars and moon and sun: | | O would, beloved,
that you lay | | Under the dock-leaves in the ground, | | While lights were paling one by one. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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