Sometimes you say to me “When I am dead

Sometimes you say to me “When I am dead——” And then I smile— As if you were just civil and well bred And imbecile; And saying something like “the pleasure’s mine——” Or “Yes, I think to-morrow will be fine.” But I last night, I dreamt that you were dead, I did not weep; True tears, alas! will always stay unshed, They are too deep To reach the smooth wet surface of the eye— That shallow mirror, where all sorrows die.

It seemed to me I felt the frozen day When I would wake, With pain, itself benumbed, too tired to flay; Nor could I take A warm and living hour within my hands— Despair itself had ceased to make demands. And now your arms are round me once again; And one small tear Marks the forgotten lesson of my pain. I cannot hear The foolish rumblings of mortality; For you, my love, are Heaven and Hell to me.