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If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day,
 O, what a day to-day would be!
But now he's away, miles and miles away
 From me across the sea.

O little bird, flying, flying, flying
 To your nest in the warm west,
Tell him as you pass that I am dying,
 As you pass home to your nest.

I have a sister, I have a brother,
 A faithful hound, a tame white dove;
But I had another, once I had another,
 And I miss him, my love, my love!

In this weary world it is so cold, so cold,
 While I sit here all alone;
I would not like to wait and to grow old,
 But just to be dead and gone.

Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed,
 Fair where I am lying:
Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead—
 He for whom I am dying.

Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it,
 And on the stone write my name;
If he never comes, I shall never know it,
 But sleep on all the same.

© Christina Georgina Rossetti