 | The Poems of John Rollin Ridge -- A reproduction of the 1868
publication plus fugitive poems and notes. |  |
THE FORGIVEN DEAD
PALE lies she now before me,
Whom late I scorned with bitter sneers,
What spell is this comes o'er me,
That all mine anger disappears?
Whom late I scorned with bitter sneers,
What spell is this comes o'er me,
That all mine anger disappears?
My yesterday was clouded
With thinking of her cruel wrong--
But, white in death thus shrouded,
I only know I loved her long !
With thinking of her cruel wrong--
But, white in death thus shrouded,
I only know I loved her long !
'T was not herself that wandered;
It was the demon of her brain--
I scarce can mourn I squandered
Such love on one whom love hath slain.
It was the demon of her brain--
I scarce can mourn I squandered
Such love on one whom love hath slain.
For died she not, pain-haunted
That truth she had forsook for gold?
Death, thou hast disenchanted
Her of sin--chaste, beautiful and cold!
That truth she had forsook for gold?
Death, thou hast disenchanted
Her of sin--chaste, beautiful and cold!
But yesterday I wept not,
As pined she on her costly bed;
Well know I now, she slept not
There in peace, till slept she--dead!
As pined she on her costly bed;
Well know I now, she slept not
There in peace, till slept she--dead!
I do forgive her, wholly;
Ye angels hear me--I forgive!
She lies so sweet and lowly--
She could not bear to sin and live.
Ye angels hear me--I forgive!
She lies so sweet and lowly--
She could not bear to sin and live.
To strew her tomb with roses,
Pure-white, as virgins' tombs should be,
I had not thought: but Fate disposes--
Her soul was virgin unto me.
Pure-white, as virgins' tombs should be,
I had not thought: but Fate disposes--
Her soul was virgin unto me.
| The Poems of John Rollin Ridge -- A reproduction of the 1868
publication plus fugitive poems and notes. | |