Come with the summer leaves, love, to my grave, <br />And, if you doubt among the quiet dead, <br />Choose out that mound where greenest grasses wave <br />And where the flowers grow thickest and most red. <br /> <br />Come in the morning while the dews of night, <br />Which are fair Nature's tears in darkness shed, <br />Rim the sad petals nor are garnered quite, <br />Like my lost hopes untimely harvested. <br /> <br />Come to my grave--ah gather, love, those flowers! <br />Out of my heart they grow for your dear head. <br />These are its songs unwritten and all yours, <br />The love I loved you with and left unsaid.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/come-with-the-summer-leaves/
