Edward Henry Bickersteth (1825-1906 / England)

Forget!—Ah! 'tis a bitter word
When spoken thus by thee,
The music of life's fitful chord
Will now unheeded be.
The hope which told of brighter hours
Is faded all and fled;
The light and perfume of the flow'rs
Rest only with the dead.
And is it so?—and is it so?
Vain is my tearful eye;
When hope is gone, and love lies low,
Ah! better 'tis—to die!