Waste no tear and heave no sigh,
Life should still be blithe for you,
Little mistress mine, good-bye!
In your garden let me lie;
Underneath the pointed yew
Dig my grave, for I must die.
We have loved the quiet sky
With its tender arch of blue;
Little mistress mine, good-bye!
That I still may feel you nigh,
In your virgin bosom, too,
Dig my grave, for I must die.
Let our garden-friends that fly
Be the mourners, fit and few.
Little mistress mine, good-bye!
Dig my grave, for I must die.
Edmund Gosse.
VILLANELLE.
Where's the use of sighing?
Sorrow as you may,
Time is always flying-
Flying!-and defying
Men to say him nay ...
Where's the use of sighing?