THE SUTTEE.
Come, thou dead image, to thy rest!
The flashing embers wait for thee,
And heaped above my panting breast
Lie faggots fit thy couch to be.
The flashing embers wait for thee,
And heaped above my panting breast
Lie faggots fit thy couch to be.
I know thee now, cold shape of clay,
Whose life was but a thrill from mine!—
One gasp, and undeceiving day
Showed the base thing no more divine.
Whose life was but a thrill from mine!—
One gasp, and undeceiving day
Showed the base thing no more divine.
Lo! I have framed a costly pyre;
There lie those dreams with wandering eyes,
And hopes, too ashen now for fire,
Strew pathways to the sacrifice.
There lie those dreams with wandering eyes,
And hopes, too ashen now for fire,
Strew pathways to the sacrifice.
I am a widow, and shall I
Linger a living death away?
Here on the dead, I, too, will die,
Quick! lest the flesh refuse to stay.
Linger a living death away?
Here on the dead, I, too, will die,
Quick! lest the flesh refuse to stay.
