To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind; And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see The may upon the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day: Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May; And we danced about the maypole, and in the hazel-copse, Till Charles's wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops. There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane: I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again: I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high-- I long to see a flower so before the day I die. The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'll 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 'll shine, Before 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, Ye 'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool, On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. Ye 'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, And ye 'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid, I shall not forget ye, mother, I shall hear ye when ye pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. I have been wild and wayward, but ye 'll forgive me now: Ye 'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow; Nay,--nay, ye must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, Ye should not fret for me, mother, ye have another child. If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place Tho' ye 'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face; Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what ye say, And be often--often with ye when ye think I'm far away. Good night! good night! when I have said good night for evermore, And ye 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'll be a better child to you than ever I have been. She'll find my garden tools upon the granary floor; Let her take 'em,--they are hers,--I shall never garden more: But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rosebush that I set, About the parlor window, and the box of mignonette. Good night, sweet mother! call me when it begins to dawn: All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn: But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New year, So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear!