| Harriet Monroe, ed. (18601936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 166. After the Martyrdom |
| | | By Scharmel Iris |
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| THEY threw a stone, you threw a stone, | |
| I threw a stone that day. | |
| Although their sharpness bruised his flesh | |
| He had no word to say. | |
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| But for the moan he did not make | 5 |
| To-day I make my moan; | |
| And for the stone I threw at him | |
| My heart must bear a stone. | |
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