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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=349941" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Deserted</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">No, mother, I am not sad: <br>Why think me sad? I was always still, <br>You remember, even when my heart was most glad <br>And you used to let me dream at my will; <br>And now I like better to watch the sea <br>And the calm sad sky than to laugh with the rest. <br>You know they are full of chatter and glee, <br>And I like the quietness best. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, mother, you look so grave. <br>I know what you're thinking and will not say; <br>But you need not fear; I am growing brave <br>Now that the pain is passing away, <br>And I never weep for him now when alone, <br>For perhaps it was better -- who can tell? -- <br>That it ended so. I shall soon be well <br>Now that the hardest is known. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am so much stronger to-day <br>I can look at all past and think how it grew <br>And how by degrees it faded away, <br>That light of my life. Ah! when I first knew <br>I had only been a plaything to him <br>Through all my loving, it seemed so strange. <br>If the high noontide at once grew night-dim <br>It would not be such a change. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wonder I did not die. <br>Mother, I'll own it you now I am strong, <br>I used to wake in the night and lie <br>Wishing and wishing it might not be long -- <br>Oh! it was wicked, and you all so kind, <br>How could I wish to bring you a grief? <br>But too much unhappiness makes one blind <br>To all but one's own relief. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am not so wicked now; <br>You need not fear. I am hoping that still, <br>I am learning to lean on God, and I bow, <br>Yes I think I bow my heart to His will. <br>I found it a long hard struggle to make, <br>To clasp my sorrow and say &quot;It is best,&quot; <br>But, believe it, you need not fear for my sake; <br>Yes, mother, I am at rest: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, listen, if I should die soon -- <br>And I know what they say, though you hide it from me -- <br>Mother, you'll grant me my last-asked boon, <br>That you'll try not to think it his fault, and if he, <br>Mother, if he should seek you some day, <br>You will not make him a hard reply, <br>But tell him, before I passed away, <br>I sent him kind good-bye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mother, kiss me, do not cry. <br>I could not keep from speaking of this; <br>It is nothing to say &quot;If I should die,&quot; <br>It cannot bring death more near than it is; <br>And I am much stronger. You shall not weep -- <br>Who is it tells me that weeping is wrong? <br>But let me lean on your lap and sleep, <br>I lay waking last night too long.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Augusta+Davies+Webster">Augusta Davies Webster</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=349941" data-title="Deserted de Augusta Davies Webster" data-description="No, mother, I am not sad: 
Why think me sad? I was always still, 
You remember, even when my heart was most glad 
And you used to let me dream at my will; 
And now I like better to watch the sea 
And the calm sad sky than to laugh with the rest. 
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