She said: Would I might sleep

With the bulbs I plant so deep,

Forgetting all the long Winter

That I must awake and weep.

A dreamless sleepy-head,

Forgetting my Dear was dead;

Nothing caring nor knowing

While the dark season sped.

I am so young, so young,

And the years stretch out so long,

The weeks and the months so endless;

The long life does me wrong.

I would grow old and grey,

As though 'twere only a day,

Till his voice came calling, calling

To me under the clay.

Then I should spring to the sun,

Life done with, Life begun,

And run where he waited to lift me

Over the threshold stone.

She sighed in the Autumn weather: --

Would I and the bulbs together,

For Spring lay quietly waiting;

I and the bulbs together.