Xxix

My sweetheart, I dreamt Thou hadst died; I heard the death-knells pealing, And there were tears and wails and cries And signs of saddest feeling.

For the low mound o’er Thy strange bed They picked a tombstone blindly, And a verse for Thine epitaph To write they asked me kindly.

Oh, folks! Oh, folks! yourselves of stones, My heart take, with grief raving, And what I have not sung before Use for the stone’s engraving!

You trusted not in my pure love And scorned my word and letter-- Now if the stone will speak to you, You’ll understand it better.