Classic Poem

Oh, tell ye not my lover,
Lest he perchance should sorrow at the tale,
That from the time we parted
My cheek grew pale;
Tell him not, though he left me, — for a bride
Beauteous, I own, as the bright moon above her, —
Tell him not that I died
Love-lorn and broken-hearted.

Say not how I have perished;
Oh! no, no, no, — say you not that I pined,
Because I was forsaken,
Or he unkind:
Say that for his sweet wife I ever prayed,
And that his dear, dear name I ever cherished,
Till I to sleep was laid
Where I shall never waken.

Let him not see me carried
To my cold grave: toll not the passing bell,
For he might haply sadden
To hear that knell;
I would not cost him an unhappy tear: —
But should he come, and ask — who died unmarried?
Who lies i' the white-plumed bier? —
Say 'tis some unknown maiden.

Bury me 'neath the willow
That mourns in the far corner of the green;
Amid its drooping tresses
Will not be seen
So small a tomb as mine. Garland it gay
With flowers, to hide the name above my pillow;
Then if he pass that way,
He shall not know 'tis Jessy's.

But should he learn my story,
Bid him not weep, nor my sade fate deplore,
Say that I would not have him
Think of it more:
Remind him of how pale I used to be,
And like to die, — If he should be too sorry,
Give him this kiss for me,
And tell him I forgave him.