Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/264



, wirastrua, woe to me that you are dead! The corpse has spoken from out his bed. “Yesternight my burning brain Throbbed and beat on the strings of pain: Now I rest, all my dreaming's done, In the world behind the sun. Yesterday I toiled full sore, To-day I ride in a coach and four. Yesternight in the streets I lay, To-night with kings, and as good as they.” Wirastrua! wirastrua! would I were lying as cold as you.