When I am dead and sister to the dust; <br /> When no more avidly I drink the wine <br /> Of human love; when the pale Proserpine <br />Has covered me with poppies, and cold rust <br />Has cut my lyre-strings, and the sun has thrust <br /> Me underground to nourish the world-vine, -- <br /> Men shall discover these old songs of mine, <br />And say: This woman lived -- as poets must! <br /> <br />This woman lived and wore life as a sword <br /> To conquer wisdom; this dead woman read <br />In the sealed Book of Love and underscored <br /> The meanings. Then the sails of faith she spread, <br />And faring out for regions unexplored, <br /> Went singing down the River of the Dead.<br /><br />Elsa Barker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-i-am-dead-and-sister-to-the-dust/
