They'll watch me walk serenely out,
Still-nerved and somber-eyed,
'So strong,' they'll say, 'to meet her death.'
To-day it is I died.
Still-nerved and somber-eyed,
'So strong,' they'll say, 'to meet her death.'
To-day it is I died.
There'll be my pulses quick with life,
My white sweet throat, my breath:
But flesh and bone are all will hang.
This noon I met my death.
My white sweet throat, my breath:
But flesh and bone are all will hang.
This noon I met my death.
For days I charmedly dwelt on death—
I raved at death—I swore—
Till vexédly death waived the date:
And came this Day-Before.
I raved at death—I swore—
Till vexédly death waived the date:
And came this Day-Before.
From being lured with artful thoughts
My life abortive grew.
From being broached in livid mood
My death aborted too.
My life abortive grew.
From being broached in livid mood
My death aborted too.
To-morrow they'll remark my calm—
No fuss, no fright, no swoon.
They'll kill a wench to-morrow dawn
Was dead to-day at noon.
No fuss, no fright, no swoon.
They'll kill a wench to-morrow dawn
Was dead to-day at noon.
Three oddnesses are in that dream:
that it is true to life in that I in my lightning Mary-Mac-Lane-ness would manage to cheat a gallows.
that it is untrue to life in that instead of writing of
