In death, I sleep a dreamless sleep
beneath a weeping star.
Forgotten in a lonely vale,
from life and love so far.
I do not hear the sounding sea
swim sadly t’ward the shore;
than tide so full and moon so fair,
my love, I miss far more.
In life, before cruel death did part,
my dreams weren’t bittersweet..
For I would hold my darling near:
my rose, sweet Marguerite!
And If I’m in her dreams tonight
and she remembers me,
at dawn, her feet will softly tread
beside that silver sea.
And to that vale beyond the beach,
where I lay down unblessed,
beside my grave she’ll dream of me
in death’s dark, dreamless rest.