The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,
And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave,
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.
Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine,
In the early early morning the summer sun will shine,
Bef ore the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,
When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.
When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light You'11 never see me more in the long gray fields at night;
When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool Over the oat-grass, and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.
You'11 bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, And you '11 come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid, I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.
I have been wild and wayward, but you'11 forgive me now, You'11 kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go, Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.
If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place, Though you'11 not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face; Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, And be often, often with you, when you think I'm far away.
Good-niglit, good-night, when I have said goodnight for evermore And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door;
Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green: . She'11 be a better child to you than ever I have been.