If I should die–then would the old love spring
Up from the fallow wastes within thy heart;
Straight would the flower from the old roots start—
But oh! what deathless thorns would ache and sting.
If I should die—but nay! If I should live
And stumble on my way with bleeding feet—
Dearest, might not the old flow’r, newly sweet,
Rise from the weed-choked past—if I should live?
A draft of “If I Should Die,” courtesy of the Ella Higginson Papers, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Heritage Resources, Western Washington University, Bellingham Washington.