Sunday, February 12, 2017

"When I am dead, my dearest"

Poignant poem in The Sunday Times today: by Christina Rossetti, (1830 - 1894).

When I am dead, my dearest,
    Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
    Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
    With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
    And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
   I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
   Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
    That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
    And haply may forget.


I think that's a realistic view of death and its aftermath, beautifully stated.

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