WHEN I am gone, what alien steps shall tread
This flowery garden-close?
What alien hands shall pluck the violets sweet,
Or gather the rich petals of the rose,
When I--drear thought!--am dead?
When I am gone, toward doubtful darkness led,
What voices, false or true,
Shall echo round these old, familiar haunts
My happiest days of tranquil manhood knew,
Ah me! when I am dead?
When I am gone, what museful eyes instead
Of these dimmed eyes of mine,
Beneath yon trellised porch shall mark thro' heaven,
On cloudless eves the summer sunsets shine,
When I, alas! am dead?
When I am gone, and all is done and said,
One life had wrought below--
'Mid these fair scenes what other souls shall thrill,
In turn, to love and anguish, joy and woe--
Dear Christ! when I am dead?
Though I be dead, perchance when Spring has shed
Her gentlest, influence round--
Here, where love reigned, my ghostly feet may tread
The old accustomed paths without a sound,--
Perchance--when I am dead!
Though I be dead, earth's fragrant white and red
Here in spring roses met,
May to strange spiritual senses bring the balms
Of tender memory and divine regret,
Yea! even to me--though dead!
Though I be dead, with faded hands and head
Laid in unbreathing rest--
Dear cottage roof! thou still mayst lure me back,
Among the unconscious living a wan guest,
Veiled, as Fate veils the dead:
A guest of shadowy frame, ethereal tread,
Amongst them, yet apart--
A sombre mystery! in whose bosom throb
The faint, slow pulses of its phantom heart,
Ah, heaven! not wholly dead!
