Upon your heart, which is the heart of all
My late discovered earth and early sky,
Give me the dearest privilege to die;
Your pity for the velvet of my pall;
Your patience for my grave’s inviolate wall;
And for my passing bell, in passing by,
Your voice itself, diminished to a sigh
Above all other sounds made musical.
Meanwhile I swear to you I am content
To live without a sorrow to my name;
To live triumphant, and to die the same,
Upon the fringes of this continent,
This map of Paradise, this scrap of earth
Whereon you burn like flame upon a hearth.
(Elinor Wylie)
More Poetry from Elinor Wylie:
Elinor Wylie Poems based on Topics: Name, Sadness- King's Ransom (Elinor Wylie Poems)
- Sonnet X (Elinor Wylie Poems)
- Parting Gift (Elinor Wylie Poems)
- Preference (Elinor Wylie Poems)
- The Little Clock (Elinor Wylie Poems)
- Cold-Blooded (Elinor Wylie Poems)