Her Song
The following poem is one of my favourites.
We hear the sad songs, we smell the breathing roses, and we feel the grass covering us.
We also perceive what the author will not: we see the soft shadows and the silent rain, and we hear the lamenting nightingale.
And we know the poet's life is a song she will remember; a song her lover could never forget.
Her Song.
Alberico Collina
Song by Christina G. Rossetti
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain;
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
The following poem is one of my favourites.
We hear the sad songs, we smell the breathing roses, and we feel the grass covering us.
We also perceive what the author will not: we see the soft shadows and the silent rain, and we hear the lamenting nightingale.
And we know the poet's life is a song she will remember; a song her lover could never forget.
Her Song.
Alberico Collina
Song by Christina G. Rossetti
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain;
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
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