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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341507" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When I Am Gone</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I am gone, I pray you shed<br>No tears upon the grassy bed<br>Where that which you have loved is laid<br>Under the wind-warped yew-tree's shade.<br>And let no sombre pomp prepare<br>My unreturning journey there,<br>Nor wailing words nor dirges deep<br>Disturb the quiet of my sleep;<br>But tender maidens, robed in white,<br>Who have not yet forgotten quite<br>The love I sought, the love I gave,<br>Be the sole mourners round my grave.<br>And neither then, nor after, raise<br>The bust of pride, the slab of praise,<br>To him who, having sinned and striven,<br>Now only asks to be forgiven,<br>That he is gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I am gone, you must not deem<br>That I am severed, as I seem,<br>From all that still enchains you here,<br>Throughout the long revolving year.<br>When, as to Winter's barren shore<br>The tides of Spring return once more,<br>And, wakened by their flashing showers,<br>The woodland foams afresh with flowers,<br>You sally forth and ramble wide,<br>I shall walk silent at your side,<br>Shall watch your mirth, shall catch your smile,<br>Shall wander with you all the while,<br>And, as in many a bygone Spring,<br>Hear cuckoo call and ousel sing.<br>And, when you homeward wend, along<br>A land all blithe with bleat and song,<br>Where lambs that skip and larks that soar<br>Make this old world seem young once more,<br>And with the wildwood flowers that fill<br>Your April laps deck shelf and sill,<br>I shall be there to guide your hand,<br>And you will surely understand<br>I am not gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Summer leans on Autumn's arm,<br>And warm round grange and red-roofed farm<br>Is piled the wain and thatched the stack,<br>And swallows troop and fieldfares pack;<br>When round rough trunk and knotted root<br>Lies thick the freshly-fallen fruit,<br>And 'mong the orchard aisles you muse<br>On what we gain, on what we lose,<br>Now vernal cares no more annoy,<br>And wisdom takes the place of joy,<br>I shall be there, as in past years,<br>To share your steps, to dry your tears,<br>To note how Autumn days have brought<br>Feelings mature and mellow thought,<br>The fruitful grief for others' smart,<br>The ripeness of a human heart.<br>And, when the winds wax rude and loud,<br>And Winter weaves the stark year's shroud,<br>As round the flickering household blaze<br>You sit and talk of vanished days,<br>Of parent, friend, no longer nigh,<br>And loves that in the churchyard lie,<br>And lips grow weak, and lids grow wet,<br>Then, then, I shall be with you yet,<br>Though I seem gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341507" data-title="When I Am Gone de Alfred Austin" data-description="When I am gone, I pray you shed
No tears upon the grassy bed
Where that which you have loved is laid
Under the wind-warped yew-tree's shade.
And let no sombre pomp prepare
My unreturning journey there,
Nor wailing words nor dirges deep
Disturb the..."></div>
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