Many Voices by E. (Edith) Nesbit
page 64 of 83 (77%)
page 64 of 83 (77%)
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Nothing could steal or save.
So when you come to carve my name, Give me life in my grave. To keep me warm when I sleep alone A lie is little to give; Call me "Magdalen" on my stone, Though I died and did not live. POEM: IN TROUBLE It's all for nothing: I've lost him now. I suppose it had to be; But oh, I never thought it of him, Nor he never thought it of me. And all for a kiss on your evening out, And a field where the grass was down . . . And he 'as gone to God-knows-where, And I may go on the town. The worst of all was the thing he said The night that he went away; He said he'd 'a married me right enough If I hadn't 'a been so gay. Me--gay! When I'd cried, and I'd asked him not, But he said he loved me so; An' whatever he wanted seemed right to me . . . |
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