If
(The Argosy, March 1866.)
If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day,O, what a day to-day would be!But now he’s away, miles and miles awayFrom me across the sea.
O little bird, flying, flying, flyingTo your nest in the warm west,Tell him as you pass that I am dying,As you pass home to your nest.
I have a sister, I have a brother,A faithful hound, a tame white dove; 10But I had another, once I had another,And I miss him, my love, my love!
In this weary world it is so cold, so cold,While I sit here all alone;I would not like to wait and to grow old,But just to be dead and gone.
Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed,Fair where I am lying:Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead—He for whom I am dying. 20
Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it,And on the stone write my name;If he never comes, I shall never know it,But sleep on all the same.