Spare her at least:look,you have taken from me The Present,and I murmur not,nor moan;The Future too,with all her glorious promise;But do not leave me utterly alone.
Spare me the Past--for,see,she cannot harm you,She lies so white and cold,wrapped in her shroud;All,all my own!and,trust me,I will hide her Within my soul,nor speak to her aloud.
I folded her soft hands upon her bosom,And strewed my flowers upon her--THEY still live -Sometimes I like to kiss her closed white eye-lids,And think of all the joy she used to give.
Cruel indeed it were to take her from me;She sleeps,she will not wake--no fear--again:And so I laid her,such a gentle burthen,Quietly on my heart to still its pain.
I do not think that any smiling Present,Any vague Future,spite of all her charms,Could ever rival her.You know you laid her,Long years ago,then living,in my arms.
Leave her at least--while my tears fall upon her,I dream she smiles,just as she did of yore;As dear as ever to me--nay,it may be,Even dearer still--since I have nothing more.
