Poetry Archives

All day on my pillow I wearily lay,
  With a stabbing pain at my heart,
With throbbing temples, and a feverish thirst
  Burning, my lips apart.
If I longed for a touch of your soft, strong hand,
  For you one little minute there;
For a smile, or a kiss, or a word to bless,
  Would you blame me, love?—would you care?

When the long, long, lonesome day was done,
  And you never for a moment came,
If I tried to shut you out of my heart,
  Impatient at your name;
If disappointment’s bitter sting
  Was harder than pain to bear,
If I turned away with a doubting frown,
  Would you blame me, love?—would you care?

Should I die to-night, and you saw me not
  Again till my soul had fled
With its vain request, and my features wore
  The white hue of the dead—
Would you place just once, in a last caress,
  Your hand on my death-damp hair?
Would you give me a thought, or a fond regret?
  Would you kiss me, love?—would you care?