Dearest one, when I am dead
Never seek to follow me
Never mount the quiet hill
Where the copper leaves are still
As my heart is, on the tree
Standing at my narrow bed

Only of your tenderness
Pray a little prayer at night
Say: "I have forgiven now
I, so weak and sad; O Thou
Wreathed in thunder, robed in light
Surely Thou wilt do no less."