Sara Teasdale, comp. (1884–1933).
The Answering Voice: One Hundred Love Lyrics by Women. 1917. | | | | A Connaught Lament | | By Nora Chesson |
| | | I WILL arise and go hence to the west, | |
| And dig me a grave where the hill-winds call; | |
| But oh, were I dead, were I dust, the fall | |
| Of my own love’s footstep would break my rest! | |
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| My heart in my bosom is black as a sloe! | 5 |
| I heed not cuckoo, nor wren, nor swallow: | |
| Like a flying leaf in the sky’s blue hollow | |
| The heart in my breast is, that beats so low. | |
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| Because of the words your lips have spoken, | |
| (O dear black head that I must not follow) | 10 |
| My heart is a grave that is stripped and hollow, | |
| As ice on the water my heart is broken. | |
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| O lips forgetful and kindness fickle, | |
| The swallow goes south with you: I go west | |
| Where fields are empty and scythes at rest. | 15 |
| I am the poppy and you the sickle; | |
| My heart is broken within my breast. | | | | |
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