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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384517" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>One Woman's Memory</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here is a lock of his soft, dark hair,<br>And here are the letters he wrote to me.<br>And the ring of gold that I used to wear<br>Is here in the casket-see!<br>I put them away ten years ago.<br>'What is it,' you ask, 'did I love in vain?<br>Was my lover unfaithful?' No, oh! no.<br>My heart was spared that pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He died in the bloom of his manhood's youth.<br>You say I have his memory, friend;<br>That he is not dead, but lives, in truth;<br>Wait till you hear the end.<br>Death in itself is a little thing,<br>It is only passing from here to there;<br>But a death of shame has a bitter sting<br>That makes it hard to bear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He was good and true as a man could be,<br>Noble and pure, when I loved him first;<br>But all of his race were cursed, you see,<br>With a fiery, craving thirst.<br>And the tempter, morning and noon and night,<br>Was placed in his path by a mother's hand.<br>The woe of wine, and its blasting blight,<br>She did not understand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I did not know, or I did not think,<br>Of the awful shame that was hidden there<br>When I saw him lift the glass, and drink<br>To the health of his 'lady fair.'<br>I knew and I thought when it was too late.<br>I reached out my hands, but I could not save.<br>He hurried on to his fearful fate,<br>And sank in a drunkard's grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He was good, and kind, and true, but weak<br>When the ruby wine danced o'er the brim.<br>And woe is me that I did not speak<br>One warning word to him!<br>If I had but told him to cast away,<br>To touch not and taste not the mocker, wine,<br>I need not have felt as I feel to-day<br>That blood stains these hands of mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>O ye who have friends on the awful brink<br>That hangs o'er the river of ruin and death!<br>When you see them lift the glass, oh! think<br>Of the jaggèd rocks beneath.<br>Reach out a hand ere the deed is done.<br>Send forth a cry in the dear Lord's name.<br>Oh! stand not aloof while a precious one<br>Speeds down to a grave of shame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</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=384517" data-title="One Woman's Memory de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="Here is a lock of his soft, dark hair,
And here are the letters he wrote to me.
And the ring of gold that I used to wear
Is here in the casket-see!
I put them away ten years ago.
'What is it,' you ask, 'did I love in vain?
Was my lover unfaithful?..."></div>
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