I’ll Be Your Epitaph!
Over your dear, dead heart I’ll lift,
As lightly as a bough,
Saying, “Here lies the false, high song,
Cruelly quiet now.”
I’ll say, “Here lies the lying sword,
Still dripping with my truth;
Here lies the lovely sheath I made,
Embroidered with my youth.”
I’ll sing, “Here lies, here lies, here lies!”
— Ah, rust in peace below! —
Passers will wonder at my words,
But your dark dust will know.
Credit
Copyright © 1922 by Leonora Speyer. This poem was first printed in The North American Review (October 1922). This poem is in the public domain.
Author
Leonora Speyer
Leonora Speyer was born in Washington, D.C., in 1872. She won the Pulitzer Prize in 1927 for her poetry collection Fiddler’s Farewell (Alfred A. Knopf, 1926)
Date Published
10/01/1922