If on my grave the summer grass were growing,
Or heedless winter winds across it blowing,
Through joyous June or desolate December,
How long, Sweetheart, how long would you remember,
How long, dear love, how long?

For brightest eyes would open to the summer,
And sweetest smiles would greet the sweet newcomer,
And on young lips grow kisses for the taking
When all the summer buds to bloom are breaking,--
How long, dear love, how long?

To that dim land where sad-eyed ghosts walk only,
Where lips are cold, and waiting hearts are lonely,
I would not call you from your youth's warm blisses;
Fill up your glass and crown it with new kisses,--
How long, dear love, how long?

Too gay, in June, you might be to regret me,
And living lips might woo you to forget me;
But, ah, Sweetheart, I think you would remember
When winds were weary in your life's December, --
So long, dear love, so long!