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Edith Nesbit - The Last Act
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NEVER a ring or a lock of hair 
    Or a letter stained with tears, 
No crown for the princely hour to wear, 
    To be mocked of the rebel years. 
Not a spoken vow, not a written page 
    And never a rose or a rhyme 
To tell to the wintry ear of age 
    The tale of the summer time. 


Never a tear or a farewell kiss 
    When the time is come to part; 
For the kiss would burn and the tear would hiss 
    On the smouldering fire in my heart.
But let me creep to the kindly clay, 
    And nothing be left to tell 
How I played in your play a year and a day, 
    And died when the curtain fell!
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