THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE
This is the scene of a man's despair, and a soul's release
From the difficult traits of the flesh; so, it seeking peace,
A shot rang out in the night; death's doors were wide;
And you stood alone, a stranger, and saw inside.
Coward flesh, brave soul, which was it? One feared the world.
The pity of men, or their scorn; yet carelessly hurled
All on the balance of Chance for a state unknown;
Fled the laughter of men for the anger of God—alone.
Perhaps when the hot blood streamed on the daisied sod,
Poor soul, you were likened to Cain, and you fled from God;
Men say you fought hard for your life, when the deed was done;
But your body would rise no more 'neath this world's sun.
I'd choose—should I do the act—such a night as this,
When the sea throws up white arms for the wild wind's kiss;
When the waves shake the shuddering shore with their foamy jaws;
Tear the strand, till slipping pebbles shriek through their claws.
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