I shall rest no more on the fragrant mosses
Under great trees where the green bough tosses
Scents of the lime; and the wild rose flinging
Sweets to the breeze with their censer swinging,
I shall count no more, as I linger lazy
Deep in the mead, from the pink-tipped daisy,
'Who loves me well, and who leaves me lonely?
Who loves me not, and who loves me only?'

I shall walk no more by the great sea dreaming
Secret dreams, with the black gull screaming,
Child of the cliff and the wan wave falling,
Songless he cries with no bird-like calling.
I shall seek no more for the sea-shell's story
By the wet sands in the sunset glory,
Hear the sea call from the spiral hollow,
'Soul who is seeking, dare you not follow?'

Whom have I loved, and who loved me only?
I shall stand in the churchyard lonely,
And see the tombs of the dear departed,
Read of the love of the broken-hearted
Writ on the stones how they loved them only,
Who loved them well and who left them lonely?
Yea! I shall see all the cold white faces
Lying so still in their secret places.

Under the earth goes the last new-comer,
What were the life of her, winter-summer!
What if her silent grave holds one only
Who loved her well, and who left her lonely?