I would not see thee more.
The storm is hushed, the agony is o'er.
I would not feel again.
The passion and the pain.
Do not again come knocking at my door.
Lest I with thirsty lip
Once more its passions sip.
Still let it lie, all shattered on the sand.
Leave me alone.
I followed, long ago,
Joy to its tomb, with tolling marches slow.
Wake not my buried slain,
Only to die again.
Leave me to peace....
'tis all I hope to know.
Leave me alone.
I may not quite forget
The buried love,
whose sweetness thrills me yet;
But let the willow wave;
Rake not a grass-grown grave;
Break not the turf,
for fresh-rung tears to wet.