It may not always be so;
And I say
And if your lips
Which I have loved
Should touch another's
And your dear strong fingers clutch
Her heart
As mine in time
Not far away;
If on another's face your sweet hair lay
In such a silence
As I know,
Or such great writhing words
As, uttering overmuch,
Stand helpelessly before the spirit at bay;
If this should be,
I say
If this should be
You of my heart
Send me a little word;
That I may go
Unto her
And take her hands,
Saying;
Accept all happiness from me
Then I shall turn my face
And hear one bird
Sing terribly afar
In the lost lands
