Oh, think of me not with sad thoughts bedecked in mourning grey,
But weave ye a woof about me of colors gold and gay;
For if I were all your own, love, we might regret some day.
Streams at their source united have yet diverging flowed,
And mine is the twisted pathway and yours the trampled road:
Who follows uncharted ways, love, alone must bear the load.
In dreaming of me say never – “Her love was false and vain
As cloud of a crimson dawning that falls at noon in rain,
As light of a luring mirage that pales upon the plain.”
Think of me with the forest when o’er its ways you see
The sun on the sombre cedars, and flash of bird and bee,
All things that are pure and bright, love, mix with your thoughts of me.
I dream of you – ’tis sundown, and low a late bird calls;
A slender moon is pacing beyond the forest walls,
And loud amid its boulders the brawling river falls.
I think of you – not sadly, yet with a half-regret,
As of a song remembered whose rhythm haunts me yet –
As of a fairy legend I cannot quite forget;
Your face against the twilight in dusky shadow lies,
And o’er the bush behind her, where home a late bird flies,
A few white stars are shining as cold as wise men’s eyes.
‘Parted,’ Bulletin 19 Apr 1906: 40. NSW.
See also ‘Think of Me Not With Sadness,’ Verses 1905: 14.