Let
nobody weep over my grave
Let nobody weep over my grave
except my wife.
Your dogged tears I easily waive
and your feigned grief.
Let neither a bell croak over my pall
nor someone sing with a shriek;
but the rain may sob at my funeral
and the wind creak.
Whoever wants to, may throw handfuls of earth
until I'm choked by the mound.
The sun will shine at its fine new birth and
burn away my wound.
And then, perhaps, once more, maybe,
bored with lying down,
I'll break that house enclosing me
and run to the sun.
And when you see me in my flight
a bright figure up there,
call me back if you like my light
in the language I knew down here.
Maybe I'll hear it there above,
passing a star's brow ;
and maybe I'll take on again, for love,
this task which is killing me now.
|
