AFTER DEATH.

IF we must part, this parting is the best:

How would you bear to lay

Your head on some warm pillow far away —

Your head, so used to lying on my breast?

But now your pillow is cold;

Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;

Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.

I have put the death-money upon your eyes,

So that you should not wake up in the night.

I have bound your face with white;

I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,—

Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,

Those feet that hastened when they came to me,

And all your body that belonged to me.

I have smoothed your dear dull hair,

And there is nothing left to say for you

And nothing left to fear or pray for you;

And I have got the rest of life to bear:

Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there.

If I had died

And you had stood beside

This still white bed

Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,—

I know the thing it is,

And I thank God that He has spared you this.

If one must bear it, thank God it was I

Who had to live and bear to see you die,

Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.

You will have nothing of it all to bear:

You will not even know that in your bed

You lie alone. You will not miss my head

Beside you on the pillow: you will rest

So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast.

But I — but I — Your pillow and your place —

And only the darkness laid against my face,

And only my anguish pressed against my side —

Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!