Epitaph by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Epitaph by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Epitaph

Ralph Waldo Emerson * Track #119 On Poems

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Epitaph by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Epitaph Annotated

Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest
Mad Destiny this tender stripling played;
For a warm breast of maiden to his breast,
She laid a slab of marble on his head.
They say, through patience, chalk
Becomes a ruby stone;
Ah, yes! but by the true heart's blood
The chalk is crimson grown.

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