My lover died a century ago, <br />Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath, <br />Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know <br /> The peace of death. <br /> <br />Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep, <br />Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!" <br />How should they know the vigils that I keep, <br /> The tears I shed? <br /> <br />Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath, <br />Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die, <br />Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death, <br /> More blest than I. <br /> <br />'Twas just last year -- I heard two lovers pass <br />So near, I caught the tender words he said: <br />To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass <br /> Above his head. <br /> <br />That night full envious of his life was I, <br />That youth and love should stand at his behest; <br />To-night, I envy him, that he should lie <br /> At utter rest.<br /><br />John McCrae<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/penance/
