Eliza Acton

Come to My Grave

Come  to my grave when I am gone,
And bend a moment there alone;
It will not cost thee much of pain
To trample on my heart again—
Or, if it would, for ever stay
Far distant from my mouldering clay:
I would not wound thy breast to prove
E'en its most deep, "remorse of love."
The grave should be a shrine of peace
Where all unkindly feelings cease;—

Though thou wilt calmly gaze on mine
I would not live the hour to see,
Which doom'd my glance to rest on thine :—
That moment's bitter agony
Would bid the very life-blood start
Back, and congeal around my heart!—