RPO -- Christina Rossetti : When I am dead, my dearest
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
How can you be so calm and indifferent, my lady? But I guess that it has always been known to you that death, as well as life, grants us nothing. Indeed, we might, and might not, remember anything, if we like at all.
Would this, then, be your little secret you cared not to tell? The cold death, the sweet sleep, all but a lie. All that we will face is merely darkness and nothing. And this knowledge does not interfere with our enjoying the wamth of sunbeam.