When I am dead what shall I leave to you? Some faint imaginings, a doubt or two, And one great dream that never could come true. When I am dead then I will leave to you A legacy of little things we knew When the sun shone, and when the sky was blue— The dusty windings of a road in Spain, A smile you left upon the window-pane, The only tear you ever wept in vain. Your tangled sweetnesses divinely grave, The silent memories of you I have Deep, timid secrets struggling to be brave. For I will leave you no heroic thing, No unguessed poverty of Pope or King, A ring of smoke, but not a ruby ring. Proud as a beggar, lonely as the free, What I gave you must still belong to me, But what you gave is called eternity.