DEAR love, they say thou art at rest.

I heed them not, though thou art long,

Dreaming that thou, with heart still strong

For fighting, followest some far quest.

They say, dear heart, I must forget.

Nay, though the agony be deep,

That memory can never sleep.

Thy passioned kisses linger yet.

They say, dear love, the daisies blithe

Shall o'er thy head in summer spring.

Daisies I Ö. I see thy body swing

Lithe and strong-limbed, above the scythe.

Dear love, they say that in the light

Of Heaven's joy our souls shall meet.

Dear God! I want thee now, the sweet

Sight of thee-not in Heaven-to-night!