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TREES AND OTHER POEMS TO A YOUNG POET WHO KILLED HIMSELF

HEN you had played with life a space

And made it drink and lust and sing,

You flung it back into God's face

And thought you did a noble thing.

"Lo, I have lived and loved,&quot; you said,

&quot;And sung to fools too dull to hear me.

Now for a cool and grassy bed

With violets in blossom near me."

Well, rest is good for weary feet,

Although they ran for no great prize;

And violets are very sweet,

Although their roots are in your eyes.

But hark to what the earthworms say

Who share with you your muddy haven:

&quot;The fight was on—you ran away.

You are a coward and a craven.

"The rug is ruined where you bled;

It was a dirty way to die!

To put a bullet through your head

And make a silly woman cry! [ 38 ]