Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/99

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Let the living," she said,

"Inquire of the Dead,

In the house of the pale-faced Images,—

And my own true Dead will answer for me, that I

have not loved amiss,

In my love for all these.

"The least touch of their hands in the morning, I

keep day and night:

Their least step on the stair, still throbs through

me, if ever so light:

Their least gift, which they left to my childhood, in

long ago years,

Is now turned from a toy to a relic, and gazed at

through tears.

Dig the snow," she said,

"For my churchyard bed;

Yet I, as I sleep, shall not fear to freeze,

If but one of these love me with heart-warm tears,

As I have loved these!

"If I have angered any among them, my own life

was sore;

If I fell from their presence, I clung to their memory

more:

Their tender I often felt holy, their bitter I some-

times called sweet;

And whenever their heart has refused me, I fell

down straight at their feet.