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