This page needs to be proofread.
DIED YESTERDAY.
99
Truly, I must grow duller, or die like a severed branchlet, —
Dying is coming to you, and ending the story sad ;
Only the sickness of grief lingers so long in its killing ;
Shall I, by instinct, forget the brightness my days once had?
Learn like a flower to sleep, or, bird-like, be lightly glad?
Save me from that, O Roger ! keep me alive to sorrow ;
Human, by birthright of pain, and free of the guild of woe ;
Tender, by thorns in the heart, so that our kindred may trust me ;
Dropping not gall, but balm, as you did, wherever I go;
Oh, let me meet you worthy, though swift come the time, or slow.
