I lay this rose upon your grave, dear comrade, fond and true;
I never thought the time would come when I should mourn for you.
I was the elder of the twain, my hair has long been white,
And I have long been ready for the coming of the night.
I thought that you would sometimes stand beside my place of rest,
And call to mind our days of youth, so careless and so blest,
And think upon our happy times, when all the world was young,
The phantom hopes that lured us, and the songs that once we sung;
But, old and sad and weary, I still must here abide,
While you are with the lads who throng upon the other side.
Well — they know that still I love them, and that one day I shall be,
As they are, and as you are, forever young and free.