The Poetry Corner

From Sudden Death. . . .

By Margaret Steele Anderson

Roses about my way, and roses still! 0, I must pick and have my very fill! Red for my heart and white upon my hair And still I shall have roses and to spare! My child, I save thee thorns! Dear little friend, This is the end! So long the road, so lone the road and gray, My bleeding feet must travel many a day! With not an inn where I may stop and rest, With not a roof that claims me for its guest! Hush! the road vanishes! Yes, yes, poor friend, This is the end! O Lord, let thou thy servant go in peace! Now I have rounded out life's perfect lease, Spare me the clouded brain, the dark'ning eye, Nor let me be a burden ere I die! Thou shalt not he! Nay, even now, old friend, This is the end!