The Maid’s Lament
Walter Savage Landor
1775 to 1864
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I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone,
I feel I am alone.
I check’d him he spoke; yet, could he speak,
Alas! I not check.
For reasons not to love him once sought,
And wearied all my thought
To vex and him: I now would give
My love he but live
Who lately lived for me, and, he found
’Twas vain, in holy ground
He his face amid the shades of death.
I for him my breath
Who wasted his for me! mine returns,
And this lorn bosom burns
With heat, heaving it up in sleep,
And waking to weep
Tears that had melted his soft heart: years
Wept he as bitter tears.
Merciful God! was his latest prayer,
These may she never share.
Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold,
daisies in the mould,
Where children spell, athwart the gate,
His name and life’s brief date.
Pray him, gentle souls, whoe’er you be,
And oh! too for me!