AFTER DEATH.

IF we must part, this parting is the best: How would you bear to lay Your head on some warm pillow far away — Your head, so used to lying on my breast?

But now your pillow is cold; Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold; Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies. I have put the death-money upon your eyes,

So that you should not wake up in the night. I have bound your face with white; I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,— Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,

Those feet that hastened when they came to me, And all your body that belonged to me. I have smoothed your dear dull hair, And there is nothing left to say for you

And nothing left to fear or pray for you; And I have got the rest of life to bear: Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there. If I had died

And you had stood beside This still white bed Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,— I know the thing it is,

And I thank God that He has spared you this. If one must bear it, thank God it was I Who had to live and bear to see you die, Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.

You will have nothing of it all to bear: You will not even know that in your bed You lie alone. You will not miss my head Beside you on the pillow: you will rest

So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast. But I — but I — Your pillow and your place — And only the darkness laid against my face, And only my anguish pressed against my side —

Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!