The Death Of Agnes
Now that the sunlight dies in my eyes,
And the moonlight grows in my hair,
I who was never very wise,
Never was very fair,
Virgin and martyr all my life,
What has life left to give
Me--who was never mother nor wife,
Never got leave to live?
Nothing of life could I clasp or claim,
Nothing could steal or save.
So when you come to carve my name,
Give me life in my grave.
To keep me warm when I sleep alone
A lie is little to give;
Call me 'Magdalen' on my stone,
Though I died and did not live.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.