Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Bereft

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For other versions of this work, see Bereft.


DEATH took away from me my heart's desire,—
Full suddenly, without a word of warning;
Froze with benumbing touch her body's fire,
And darkened her young morning.

Death hid her then where she is safe, men say,—
Imprisoned in a deep-digged grave and hollow,
Where grief and pain may never find a way,
Nor any torment follow.

Safe!—and because of fear, they deem 't was best
For her, perchance,—this thing which they call dying,
But cold she could not be against my breast
As there where she is lying!

Sometimes I dream, with sudden, wild delight,
That she escapes the cruel bonds that bind her,
And fond I seek through all the throbbing night,
But never, never find her!

Sometimes—But have the dead then no regrets?—
Ah, me! I think, though she hath so bereft me,
My loved one cannot be where she forgets
How lonely she hath left me!