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George Meredith - Song (Untitled #12)
Work rating: Low

Should thy love die; 
O bury it not under ice-blue eyes! 
And lips that deny, 
With a scornful surprise, 
The life it once lived in thy breast when it wore no disguise. 

Should thy love die; 
O bury it where the sweet wild-flowers blow! 
And breezes go by, 
With no whisper of woe; 
And strange feet cannot guess of the anguish that slumbers below. 

Should thy love die; 
O wander once more to the haunt of the bee! 
Where the foliaged sky 
Is most sacred to see, 
And thy being first felt its wild birth like a wind-wakened tree. 

Should thy love die; 
O dissemble it! smile! let the rose hide the thorn! 
While the lark sings on high, 
And no thing looks forlorn, 
Bury it, bury it, bury it where it was born.
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