PITY HER NOT
Pity her not who so sweetly can slumber,
While life's delirium rages around,
Sleep that no vision of care can encumber,
Slumber unbroken by motion or sound.
While life's delirium rages around,
Sleep that no vision of care can encumber,
Slumber unbroken by motion or sound.
What will she miss in the life of a woman?
Roses that bloom 'midst the cruelest briers;
Maybe a love, weak and selfish and human,
Songs all discordant to heavenly choirs.
Roses that bloom 'midst the cruelest briers;
Maybe a love, weak and selfish and human,
Songs all discordant to heavenly choirs.
Pleasures, perchance which she never yet tasted,
Possibly fame, which she never can know;
Beauty, like rose petals scattered, love wasted,
Like their perfume in a desert of woe.
Possibly fame, which she never can know;
Beauty, like rose petals scattered, love wasted,
Like their perfume in a desert of woe.
You who have loved her, to you is the sadness
Of that deep loneliness hard to forget;
You who have wronged her, to you comes the madness,
Unfelt by her, of remorse and regret.
Of that deep loneliness hard to forget;
You who have wronged her, to you comes the madness,
Unfelt by her, of remorse and regret.
Pity her not—they have need of your pity,
In life's delirium tossed to and fro;
In the calm earth or the beautiful city,
Naught of their pain and unrest can she know.
In life's delirium tossed to and fro;
In the calm earth or the beautiful city,
Naught of their pain and unrest can she know.