I dreamt last night, as I lay in bed,
That I was old and that you were dead.
I knew you had died long time ago,
And I well recalled the moan and woe.
You had died in your beautiful youth, my sweet;
You had gone to your rest with untired feet;
And I had prayed to come to you,
To lay me down and slumber too.
But it might not be, and the days went on,
And I was all alone, alone.
The women came so neighbourly,
And kissed my face and wept with me;
And the men stood still to see me pass,
And smiled grave smiles, and said, “Poor lass!”
Sometimes I seemed to hear your feet,
And my grief-numbed heart would wildly beat;
And I stopt and named my darling’s name—
But never a word of answer came.
The men and women ceased at last
To pity pain that was of the past;