My Heart and I

I.
Enough! we’re tired, my heart and I.
&nbspWe sit beside the headstone thus,
&nbspAnd wish that name were carved for us.
The moss reprints more tenderly
&nbspThe hard types of the mason’s knife,
&nbspAs 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.
&nbspWe dealt with books, we trusted men,
&nbspAnd in our own blood drenched the pen,
As if such colours could not fly.
&nbspWe walked too straight for fortune’s end,
&nbspWe 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!
&nbspWe seem of no use in the world;
&nbspOur fancies hang grey and uncurled
About men’s eyes indifferently;
&nbspOur voice which thrilled you so, will let
&nbspYou sleep; our tears are only wet:
What do we here, my heart and I?

IV.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I!
&nbspIt was not thus in that old time
&nbspWhen Ralph sat with me ’neath the lime
To watch the sunset from the sky.
&nbsp“Dear love, you’re looking tired,” he said;
&nbspI, smiling at him, shook my head:
’T is now we’re tired, my heart and I.

V.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I!
&nbspThough now none takes me on his arm
&nbspTo fold me close and kiss me warm
Till each quick breath end in a sigh
&nbspOf happy languor. Now, alone,
&nbspWe lean upon this graveyard stone,
Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

VI.
Tired out we are, my heart and I.
&nbspSuppose the world brought diadems
&nbspTo tempt us, crusted with loose gems
Of powers and pleasures? Let it try.
&nbspWe scarcely care to look at even
&nbspA pretty child, or God’s blue heaven,
We feel so tired, my heart and I.

VII.
Yet who complains? My heart and I?
&nbspIn this abundant earth no doubt
&nbspIs little room for things worn out:
Disdain them, break them, throw them by!
&nbspAnd if before the days grew rough
&nbspWe once were loved, used,—well enough,
I think, we’ve fared, my heart and I.