SWEET MOTHER, in a minute’s span <br />Death parts thee and my love of thee; <br />Sweet love, that yet art living man, <br />Come back, true love, to comfort me. <br />Back, ah, come back! ah wellaway! <br />But my love comes not any day. <br /> <br />As roses, when the warm West blows, <br />Break to full flower and sweeten spring, <br />My soul would break to a glorious rose <br />In such wise at his whispering. <br />In vain I listen; wellaway! <br />My love says nothing any day. <br /> <br />You that will weep for pity of love <br />On the low place where I am lain, <br />I pray you, having wept enough, <br />Tell him for whom I bore such pain <br />That he was yet, ah! wellaway! <br />My true love to my dying day.<br /><br />Algernon Charles Swinburne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-before-death-from-the-french/
