The Foolish Heart
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STILL, heart, cease those measuredB strokes ;Lie quiet in your hollow bed;This moving frame is but a hoaxTo make you think you are not dead.” Thus spake I to my body’s slave,With beats still to be answeréd;Poor foolish heart that needs a graveTo prove to it that it is dead. A Wish HOPE when I have sung my roundsOf song, I shall have strength to slayThe wish to chirp on any grounds,Content that silence hold her sway,My tongue not rolling futile soundsAfter my heart has had its say. 31
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