165 . Vain Death

ALL the first night she might not weep

But watched till morning came,

And when she slept at dawn, she heard

The dead man call her name.

The second night she watched and wept

And called on death for grace,

And when she slept before the dawn

She saw the dead man’s face.

The third night through she laughed as one

That knows her way to bliss,

And in the instant ere she slept

She felt the dead man’s kiss.

She rose and faced the flickering fire

(And oh, but she was fair!),

Like a wild witch behind her danced

The shadow of her hair.

She took her penknife from its sheath,

The tender blade she kissed,

And by the firelight’s dying leap

She bared her little wrist.

And where the vein ran large and blue

She cut, once and again,

Yet ere she swooned from life, she knew

Her death had been in vain.

For while life thundered in her ears,

Ere yet her pulse might fail,

Far off across the kindless night

She heard the dead man’s wail,

And knew her doom was one with theirs

That kill the life God gave,

And that she might not leave this earth

Her soul alive to save,

But ay must dwell within that house

As in a living grave,

While he for whom she died might ne’er

Win to her in that place,

But must for ever make his moan

Ranging in agony alone

The trackless void of space.