(5 December 1830 – 29 December 1894 / London)

Let Me Go

When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little, but not for long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that once we shared
Miss me, but let me go.
For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone.
It's all part of the master plan
A step on the road to home.
When you are lonely and sick at heart
Go the friends we know.
Laugh at all the things we used to do
Miss me, but let me go.
When I am dead my dearest
Sing no sad songs for me
Plant thou no roses at my head
Nor shady cypress tree
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet
And if thou wilt remember
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not fear the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on as if in pain;
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Comments (5)

Miss Me, But Let Me Go Robyn Rancman ................ For this a journey we all must take, and each must go alone; It’s all a part of the master’s plan, a step on the road to home. When you are lonely and sick of heart, go to the friends we know, And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds, miss me, but let me go. P.S. It looks like Christina Georgina Rossetti plagiarized.
Congratulations to John McCormack and Stuart. Here is Robyn Rancman's poem.. Miss Me, But Let Me Go Robyn Rancman When I come to the end of the road and the sun has set for me, I want no rites in a gloom filled room, why cry for a soul set free! Miss me a little, but not for long, and not with your head bowed low. Remember the love we once shared, miss me, but let me go! For this a journey we all must take, and each must go alone; It’s all a part of the master’s plan,
This os NOT by Christina Rossetti! ! ! It's by Robyn Rancman
This isn’t by Christina Rossetti though influenced by her. Rhythm hobbles a bit and some of the phrasing is awkward. Not a bad poem, people obviously find it comforting but not in same league as ‘when I am dead’ though there is something typically ‘off’ in Rossetti’s position, something lugubrious, in that poem.
Can there be anything more poignant and destabilising than to read the intense parting words (in the form of a poem, though) of someone we adore so much. Death can be such a great shock to the bereaved. Hats off to the poet. I quote some of the lines: When I am dead my dearest / Sing no sad songs for me.