"tired out! " Yet face and brow Do not look aweary now, And the eyelids lie like two Pure, white rose-leaves washed with dew.
Was her life so hard a task? -- Strange that we forget to ask What the lips now dumb for aye Could have told us yesterday!
"Tired out! " A faded scrawl Pinned upon the ragged shawl -- Nothing else to leave a clue Even of a friend or two, Who might come to fold the hands, Or smooth back the dripping strands Of her tresses, or to wet Them anew with fond regret.
"Tired out! " We can but guess Of her little happiness -- Long ago, in some fair land, When a lover held her hand In the dream that frees us all, Soon or later, from its thrall -- Be it either false or true, We, at last, must tire, too.
End of title
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