Poems (Bacon)/Loneliness
For works with similar titles, see Loneliness.
III. LONELINESS
How can I play any longer with my doll?
You know she has lost her head.
And Mary 's the one that used to mend her for me—
And Mary, you say, is dead.
You know she has lost her head.
And Mary 's the one that used to mend her for me—
And Mary, you say, is dead.
Why do I leave the sand-heap all alone?
Because it has dried and spread.
And Mary 's the one that always brought the water—
And Mary, you say, is dead.
Because it has dried and spread.
And Mary 's the one that always brought the water—
And Mary, you say, is dead.
More on the beach? Well, I think I know that, too!
And you are the one that said
That Mary and I should sleep in a room together—
And now you say Mary 's dead.
And you are the one that said
That Mary and I should sleep in a room together—
And now you say Mary 's dead.
No, I don't like the hotel—I 'd be alone;
I 'd cry in that great big bed:
And Mary and I played tent in the morning early—
And now Mary cant—she's dead.
I 'd cry in that great big bed:
And Mary and I played tent in the morning early—
And now Mary cant—she's dead.
Happier? no, not a bit! not a single bit!
Then why are your eyes so red?
And Mary 's the one that never liked angel-stories—
And Mary 's the one that 's dead.
Then why are your eyes so red?
And Mary 's the one that never liked angel-stories—
And Mary 's the one that 's dead.