For me, and for him I had no gold.
Because if I did not remember him,
My little child—Ah! What should we have,
He and I? Not even a grave
With a name of his own by the river's brim.
Because if among the poppies gay,
On the hill-side, now my eyes are dim,
I could not fancy a child at play,
And if I should pass by the pool in the quarry
And never see him, a darling ghost,