<h2><i><SPAN name="TO_M"></SPAN>TO M——</i></h2>
<p class="poem">
O! I care not that my earthly lot<br/>
<span class="ind15">Hath little of Earth in it,</span><br/>
That years of love have been forgot<br/>
<span class="ind15">In the fever of a minute:</span><br/>
<br/>
I heed not that the desolate<br/>
<span class="ind15">Are happier, sweet, than I,</span><br/>
But that you meddle with my fate<br/>
<span class="ind15">Who am a passer by.</span><br/>
<br/>
It <i>is</i> not that my founts of bliss<br/>
<span class="ind15">Are gushing—strange! with tears—</span><br/>
Or that the thrill of a single kiss<br/>
<span class="ind15">Hath palsied many years—</span><br/>
<br/>
'Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs<br/>
<span class="ind15">Which have wither'd as they rose</span><br/>
Lie dead on my heart-strings<br/>
<span class="ind15">With the weight of an age of snows.</span><br/>
<br/>
Not that the grass—O! may it thrive!<br/>
<span class="ind15">On my grave is growing or grown—</span><br/>
But that, while I am dead yet alive<br/>
<span class="ind15">I cannot be, lady, alone.</span><br/></p>
<hr class="r65" />
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