My Heart and I
I.
ENOUGH
!
we're
tired,
my
heart
and
I.
We
sit
beside
the
headstone
thus,
And
wish
that
name
were
carved
for
us.
The
moss
reprints
more
tenderly
The
hard
types
of
the
mason's
knife,
As
heaven's
sweet
life
renews
earth's
life
With
which
we're
tired,
my
heart
and
I.
II.
You
see
we're
tired,
my
heart
and
I.
We
dealt
with
books,
we
trusted
men,
And
in
our
own
blood
drenched
the
pen,
As
if
such
colours
could
not
fly.
We
walked
too
straight
for
fortune's
end,
We
loved
too
true
to
keep
a
friend
;
At
last
we're
tired,
my
heart
and
I.
III.
How
tired
we
feel,
my
heart
and
I
!
We
seem
of
no
use
in
the
world
;
Our
fancies
hang
grey
and
uncurled
About
men's
eyes
indifferently
;
Our
voice
which
thrilled
you
so,
will
let
You
sleep;
our
tears
are
only
wet
:
What
do
we
here,
my
heart
and
I
?
IV.
So
tired,
so
tired,
my
heart
and
I
!
It
was
not
thus
in
that
old
time
When
Ralph
sat
with
me
'neath
the
lime
To
watch
the
sunset
from
the
sky.
`Dear
love,
you're
looking
tired,'
he
said;
I,
smiling
at
him,
shook
my
head
:
'Tis
now
we're
tired,
my
heart
and
I.
V.
So
tired,
so
tired,
my
heart
and
I
!
Though
now
none
takes
me
on
his
arm
To
fold
me
close
and
kiss
me
warm
Till
each
quick
breath
end
in
a
sigh
Of
happy
languor.
Now,
alone,
We
lean
upon
this
graveyard
stone,
Uncheered,
unkissed,
my
heart
and
I.
VI.
Tired
out
we
are,
my
heart
and
I.
Suppose
the
world
brought
diadems
To
tempt
us,
crusted
with
loose
gems
Of
powers
and
pleasures
?
Let
it
try.
We
scarcely
care
to
look
at
even
A
pretty
child,
or
God's
blue
heaven,
We
feel
so
tired,
my
heart
and
I.
VII.
Yet
who
complains
?
My
heart
and
I
?
In
this
abundant
earth
no
doubt
Is
little
room
for
things
worn
out
:
Disdain
them,
break
them,
throw
them
by
And
if
before
the
days
grew
rough
We
once
were
loved,
used,
—
well
enough,
I
think,
we've
fared,
my
heart
and
I.
