When I am dead and sister to the dust; br    When no more avidly I drink the wine br    Of human love; when the pale Proserpine br Has covered me with poppies, and cold rust br Has cut my lyre-strings, and the sun has thrust br    Me underground to nourish the world-vine, -- br    Men shall discover these old songs of mine, br And say: This woman lived -- as poets must! br br This woman lived and wore life as a sword br    To conquer wisdom; this dead woman read br In the sealed Book of Love and underscored br    The meanings. Then the sails of faith she spread, br And faring out for regions unexplored, br    Went singing down the River of the Dead.