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 . . .