In my old age I see your face once more,
The flowers have bloomed above it fifty years,
And my life lies between us: I forgot
Those flowers I planted long ago with tears. You died so young that I forgot you there,
Deep buried 'mid the lilies; in my life
Came other faces, and yours faded dim,
How should you, lying there, know aught of strife? And life is strife, and so I careless left you
In your deep sleep, and turned away my heart
From that still grave, unto the heat and toil
Of ceaseless labour in the world's fierce mart. But now that I am near the end of strife,
Your long forgotten voice comes back to me,
All other faces fade before yours now,
And far-off years seem yesterday to be. My own lost love; can it be yet that I
Shall meet and know you on that further shore?
Shall I, who thus forgot you, find you there,
Where none forget, and parting is no more?