University of Virginia Library

XXXVI.

When all is done that can be done
And all that can be said is said,
Time leaves alone the mother with the son—
The son alive, the mother dead.
That is the torture. Through the day and night
The vision still is there;
The face so calm, but oh! so white—
The silent lips, the silver hair.
The night before she kissed me, and the kiss
Just like another came and passed:
O God how different, had we known that this—
This—was the very last!