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Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

A Passing Voice

'Turn me a rhyme,' said Fate,
'Turn me a rhyme:
A swift and deadly hate
Blows headlong towards thee in the teeth of Time.
Write! or thy words will fall too late.'

'Write me a fold,' said Fate,
'Write me a fold,
Life to conciliate,
Of words red with thine heart's blood, hotly told.
Then, kings may envy thine estate!'

'Make thee a fame,' said Fate,
'Make thee a fame
To storm the heaven-hung gate,
Unbarred alone to the victorious name
Which has Art's conquerors to mate.'

'Die in thy shame,' said Fate,
'Die in thy shame!

[...] Read more

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A Youth's Suicide

He handed his life a poisoned draught,
With a scornful smile and a cold, cold glance,
And the merry bystanders loudly laughed
(For the rollicking world was gay!).

He thought she knew not the juice, perchance;
But her tears fell down to her sobbing lips
While the merry-makers turned to the dance
(The world was mocking fate that day!).

To his life he kissed his finger-tips:
'Drink deep the beaker, and so farewell!'
Then slowly the poisoned draught she sips
(How they laugh at her meek dismay!).

He sprang to her arm, which loosely fell,
Crying: 'No! not yet that dire eclipse!'
Now loud laughed the dancers, and whirled pell-mell
(While the echoes hurried away!).

[...] Read more

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