Poetry Archives

A hundred, a thousand to one; even so;
  Not a hope in the world remained:
The swarming, howling wretches below
  Gained and gained and gained.

Skene looked at his pale young wife:—
  “Is the time come?”—”The time is come!”—
Young, strong, and so full of life:
  The agony struck them dumb.

Close his arm about her now,
  Close her cheek to his,
Close the pistol to her brow—
  God forgive them this!

“Will it hurt much?”—”No, mine own:
  I wish I could bear the pang for both.”
“I wish I could bear the pang alone:
  Courage, dear, I am not loth.”

Kiss and kiss: “It is not pain
  Thus to kiss and die.
One kiss more.”—”And yet one again.”—
  “Good by.”—”Good by.”


Note.—I retain this little poem, not as historically
accurate, but as written and published before I heard the
supposed facts of its first verse contradicted.