I know not why thy beauty should
  Remind me of the cold, dark grave -
Thou Flower, as fair as Moonlight, when
  She kissed the mouth of a black Cave.

All other Flowers can coax the Bees,
  All other Flowers are sought but thee:
Dost thou remind them all of Death,
  Sweet Flower, as thou remindest me?

Thou seemest like a blessed ghost,
  So white, so cold, though crowned with gold;
Among these glazed Buttercups,
  And purple Thistles, rough and bold,

When I am dead, nor thought of more,
  Out of all human memory -
Grow you on my forsaken grave,
  And win for me a stranger's sigh.

A day or two the lilies fade;
  A month, aye less, no friends are seen:
Then, claimant to forgotten graves,
  Share my lost place with the wild green.