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If

March 1866

by Christina Rossetti
If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day,
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If

March 1866

by Christina Rossetti
If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day,
  O, what a day to-day would be!
But now he's away, miles and miles away
  From me across the sea.
O little bird, flying, flying, flying
  To your nest in the warm west,
Tell him as you pass that I am dying,
  As you pass home to your nest.
I have a sister, I have a brother,
  A faithful hound, a tame white dove;
But I had another, once I had another,
  And I miss him, my love, my love!
In this weary world it is so cold, so cold,
  While I sit here all alone;
I would not like to wait and to grow old,
  But just to be dead and gone.
Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed,
  Fair where I am lying:
Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead—
  He for whom I am dying.
Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it,
  And on the stone write my name;
If he never comes, I shall never know it,
  But sleep on all the same.

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