Wilt thou on thy sweet bosom wear,
The cross I send to thee,
Disdaining not the gift that tells
How dear thou art to me?—
Threads of thy soft, brown, precious hair
Do therein intertwine,
Querida! by thy sweet consent,
With some gray threads of mine.

Sweetheart! perhaps, when I am dead,
It may kind memories wake,
Of one who little cares to live,
Except for thy sweet sake;
Who, hoping for such love alone,
As youth to age can give,
Could, losing even that, no less
Only to love you live.

Darling! upon my breast unseen,
Its match and mate I wear,
Thrilled with the same sweet influence,
As when thy head lay there: —
And those who find it there when I
Am silent, still and cold,
May say, perhaps, 'this man still loved,
'Though he was gray and old.'

There let them leave the triple cross,
Of deathless love the sign,
Under the grass and on my heart,
For it is wholly mine:—
Though frost-sere leaf and soft spring-flower
Not fit companions be,
Yet I, grown old, O Darling! love
Beyond all measure thee.