The Poetry Corner

Broken-Hearted.

By Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

"Cross my hands upon my breast," Read her last behest. "Turn my cheek upon the pillow, As resting from life's stormy billow With sleep's fine zest!" "Cross my hands upon my breast," Read her last behest, "That the patient bones may lie In form of thanks eternally, Grimly expressed!" We clasped her hands upon her breast: Oh mockery at misery's hest! We hid in flowers her body's grief, - Counting by many a rose and leaf Her days unblessed!