Chapter 45 My Heart and I

I. ENOUGH ! were tired, my heart and I. We sit beside the headstone thus, And wish that name were carved for us. The moss reprints more tenderly The hard types of the masons knife, As heavens sweet life renews earths life With which were tired, my heart and I. II. You see were tired, my heart and I. We dealt with books, we trusted men, And in our own blood drenched the pen, As if such colors could not fly. We walked too straight for fortunes end, We loved too true to keep a friend; At last were tired, my heart and I. III. How tired we feel, my heart and I !

We seem of no use in the world; Our fancies hang gray and uncurled About mens eyes indifferently; Our voice which thrilled you so, will let You sleep; our tears are only wet : What do we here, my heart and I? IV. So tired, so tired, my heart and I ! It was not thus in that old time When Ralph sat with me neath the lime To watch the sunset from the sky. `Dear love, you are looking tired, he said; I, smiling at him, shook my head: Tis now were tired, my heart and I. V. So tired, so tired, my heart and I ! Though now none takes me on his arm To fold me close and kiss me warm

Till each quick breath end in a sigh Of happy languor. Now, alone, We lean upon this graveyard stone, Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. VI. Tired out we are, my heart and I. Suppose the world brought diadems To tempt us, crusted with loose gems Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. We scarcely care to look at even A pretty child, or Gods blue heaven, We feel so tired, my heart and I. VII. Yet who complains? My heart and I? In this abundant earth no doubt Is little room for things worn out : Disdain them, break them, throw them by And if before the days grew rough

We once were loved, used, -- well enough, I think, weve fared, my heart and I.