 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
138
THE SUICIDE.
Where the dry, dusty road makes a crook to evade
The clump of sweet maples that offer their shade,
'T is there that the grave of poor Margaret is made.
The clump of sweet maples that offer their shade,
'T is there that the grave of poor Margaret is made.
Where the river you see pushes into the shore,
As if in its bosom some treasure it bore
Belonging to earth, which it fain would restore;
As if in its bosom some treasure it bore
Belonging to earth, which it fain would restore;
Ah, there 't was they found her, her arms o'er her head,
As if she had drawn up the waves to o'erspread
Her corpse from all pity, when she should be dead.
As if she had drawn up the waves to o'erspread
Her corpse from all pity, when she should be dead.
Where the grass to the water slopes green, it was there
They shut up her eyes from their wondering stare,
That they wrung out the wet from her garments and hair.
They shut up her eyes from their wondering stare,
That they wrung out the wet from her garments and hair.
I shall say, if the judgment shall call me to speak,
“A kiss might have put out the fire in her cheek
That urged her the last awful refuge to seek.”
“A kiss might have put out the fire in her cheek
That urged her the last awful refuge to seek.”
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |