Classic Poem

O wander not so far away!
O love, forgive this selfish tear —
It may be sad for thee to stay,
But how can I live lonely here?

The still May morn is warm and bright,
Young flowers look fresh and grass is green;*
And in the haze of glorious light
Our long, low hills are scarcely seen.

The woods — even now their small leaves hide*
The blackbird and the stockdove well;*
And high in heaven, so blue and wide,
A thousand strains of music swell.

He looks on all with eyes that speak
So deep, so drear a woe to me!
There is a faint red on his cheek
Not like the bloom I used to see.

Call1 Death — yes, Death, he is thine own!
The grave must close those limbs around,
And hush, for ever hush the tone
I loved above all earthly sound.

Well, pass away with the other flowers:
Too dark for them, too dark for thee
Are the hours to come, the joyless hours,
That Time is treasuring up for me.

If thou hast sinned in this world of care,
'Twas but the dust of thy drear abode —
Thy soul was pure when it entered here,
And pure it will go again to God.1 This word is " Can " in the manuscript.