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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392053" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Monica Thought Dying</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">You, O the piteous you!<br>Who all the long night through<br>Anticipatedly<br>Disclose yourself to me<br>Already in the ways<br>Beyond our human comfortable days;<br>How can you deem what Death<br>Impitiably saith<br>To me, who listening wake<br>For your poor sake?<br>When a grown woman dies<br>You know we think unceasingly<br>What things she said, how sweet, how wise;<br>And these do make our misery.<br>But you were (you to me<br>The dead anticipatedly!)<br>You--eleven years, was't not, or so? -<br>Were just a child, you know;<br>And so you never said<br>Things sweet immeditatably and wise<br>To interdict from closure my wet eyes:<br>But foolish things, my dead, my dead!<br>Little and laughable,<br>Your age that fitted well.<br>And was it such things all unmemorable,<br>Was it such things could make<br>Me sob all night for your implacable sake?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, as you said to me,<br>In pretty make-believe of revelry,<br>So the night long said Death<br>With his magniloquent breath;<br>(And that remembered laughter<br>Which in our daily uses followed after,<br>Was all untuned to pity and to awe):<br>'A cup of chocolate,<br>One farthing is the rate,<br>You drink it through a straw.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How could I know, how know<br>Those laughing words when drenched with sobbing so?<br>Another voice than yours, than yours, he hath!<br>My dear, was't worth his breath,<br>His mighty utterance?--yet he saith, and saith!<br>This dreadful Death to his own dreadfulness<br>Doth dreadful wrong,<br>This dreadful childish babble on his tongue!<br>That iron tongue made to speak sentences,<br>And wisdom insupportably complete,<br>Why should it only say the long night through,<br>In mimicry of you, -<br>'A cup of chocolate,<br>One farthing is the rate,<br>You drink it through a straw, a straw, a straw!'<br>Oh, of all sentences,<br>Piercingly incomplete!<br>Why did you teach that fatal mouth to draw,<br>Child, impermissible awe,<br>From your old trivialness?<br>Why have you done me this<br>Most unsustainable wrong,<br>And into Death's control<br>Betrayed the secret places of my soul?<br>Teaching him that his lips,<br>Uttering their native earthquake and eclipse,<br>Could never so avail<br>To rend from hem to hem the ultimate veil<br>Of this most desolate<br>Spirit, and leave it stripped and desecrate, -<br>Nay, never so have wrung<br>From eyes and speech weakness unmanned, unmeet;<br>As when his terrible dotage to repeat<br>Its little lesson learneth at your feet;<br>As when he sits among<br>His sepulchres, to play<br>With broken toys your hand has cast away,<br>With derelict trinkets of the darling young.<br>Why have you taught--that he might so complete<br>His awful panoply<br>From your cast playthings--why,<br>This dreadful childish babble to his tongue,<br>Dreadful and sweet?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Thompson">Francis Thompson</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=392053" data-title="To Monica Thought Dying de Francis Thompson" data-description="You, O the piteous you!
Who all the long night through
Anticipatedly
Disclose yourself to me
Already in the ways
Beyond our human comfortable days;
How can you deem what Death
Impitiably saith
To me, who listening wake
For your poor sake?
When a g..."></div>
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