THE FUNERAL - That short, potential stir
That short, potential stir / That each can make but once,
If I may have it when it's dead
I will contented be;
If just as soon as breath is out
It shall belong to me,
Until they lock it in the grave,
'T is bliss I cannot weigh,
For though they lock thee in the grave,
Myself can hold the key.
Think of it, lover! I and thee
Permitted face to face to be;
After a life, a death we'll say, --
For death was that, and this is thee.
That short, potential stir / That each can make but once,
After a hundred years / Nobody knows the place, --
Have you got a brook in your little heart, / Where bashful flowers blow,
I should not dare to leave my friend, / Because -- because if he should die