When All Is Done
When all is done, and my last word is said,And ye who loved me murmur, “He is dead,”Let no one weep, for fear that I should know,And sorrow too that ye should sorrow so.
When all is done and in the oozing clay,Ye lay this cast-off hull of mine away,Pray not for me, for, after long despair,The quiet of the grave will be a prayer.
For I have suffered loss and grievous pain,The hurts of hatred and the world’s disdain,And wounds so deep that love, well-tried and pure,Had not the pow’r to ease them or to cure.
When all is done, say not my day is o’er,And that thro’ night I seek a dimmer shore:Say rather that my morn has just begun,—I greet the dawn and not a setting sun,When all is done.