ALL the first night she might not weep <br /> But watched till morning came, <br />And when she slept at dawn, she heard <br /> The dead man call her name. <br /> <br />The second night she watched and wept <br /> And called on death for grace, <br />And when she slept before the dawn <br /> She saw the dead man’s face. <br /> <br />The third night through she laughed as one <br /> That knows her way to bliss, <br />And in the instant ere she slept <br /> She felt the dead man’s kiss. <br /> <br />She rose and faced the flickering fire <br /> (And oh, but she was fair!), <br />Like a wild witch behind her danced <br /> The shadow of her hair. <br /> <br />She took her penknife from its sheath, <br /> The tender blade she kissed, <br />And by the firelight’s dying leap <br /> She bared her little wrist. <br /> <br />And where the vein ran large and blue <br /> She cut, once and again, <br />Yet ere she swooned from life, she knew <br /> Her death had been in vain. <br /> <br />For while life thundered in her ears, <br /> Ere yet her pulse might fail, <br />Far off across the kindless night <br /> She heard the dead man’s wail, <br /> <br />And knew her doom was one with theirs <br /> That kill the life God gave, <br />And that she might not leave this earth <br /> Her soul alive to save, <br />But ay must dwell within that house <br /> As in a living grave, <br /> <br />While he for whom she died might ne’er <br /> Win to her in that place, <br />But must for ever make his moan <br />Ranging in agony alone <br /> The trackless void of space<br /><br />Archibald Thomas Strong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vain-death/
