To feel the one fond hand within your clasp
Fall slack, and loosen with a touch so cold
Its pressure may not warm you as of old
Before the light of love had thus expired--
To know your tears are worthless, though they rolled
Their torrents out in molten drops of gold.--
God's pity! I am tired!

And I must rest.--Yet do not say "She _died_,"
In speaking of me, sleeping here alone.
I kiss the grassy grave I sink beside,
And close mine eyes in slumber all mine own:
Hereafter I shall neither sob nor moan
Nor murmur one complaint;--all I desired,
And failed in life to find, will now be known--
So let me dream. Good night! And on the stone
Say simply: She was tired.

[Illustration: (AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO--TAILPIECE)]




[Illustration: (THE PASSING OF A HEART--TITLE)]

THE PASSING OF A HEART


O Touch me with your hands--
For pity's sake!