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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536293" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Stone</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And will you cut a stone for him, <br>To set above his head? <br>And will you cut a stone for him-- <br>A stone for him?&quot; she said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Three days before, a splintered rock <br>Had struck her lover dead-- <br>Had struck him in the quarry dead, <br>Where, careless of a warning call, <br>He loitered, while the shot was fired-- <br>A lively stripling, brave and tall, <br>And sure of all his heart desired . . . <br>A flash, a shock, <br>A rumbling fall . . . <br>And, broken 'neath the broken rock, <br>A lifeless heap, with face of clay, <br>And still as any stone he lay, <br>With eyes that saw the end of all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I went to break the news to her: <br>And I could hear my own heart beat <br>With dread of what my lips might say; <br>But some poor fool had sped before; <br>And, flinging wide her father's door, <br>Had blurted out the news to her, <br>Had struck her lover dead for her, <br>Had struck the girl's heart dead in her, <br>Had struck life, lifeless, at a word, <br>And dropped it at her feet: <br>Then hurried on his witless way, <br>Scarce knowing she had heard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when I came, she stood alone-- <br>A woman, turned to stone: <br>And, though no word at all she said, <br>I knew that all was known.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Because her heart was dead, <br>She did not sigh nor moan. <br>His mother wept: <br>She could not weep. <br>Her lover slept: <br>She could not sleep. <br>Three days, three nights, <br>She did not stir: <br>Three days, three nights, <br>Were one to her, <br>Who never closed her eyes <br>From sunset to sunrise, <br>From dawn to evenfall-- <br>Her tearless, staring eyes, <br>That, seeing naught, saw all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fourth night when I came from work, <br>I found her at my door. <br>&quot;And will you cut a stone for him?&quot; <br>She said: and spoke no more: <br>But followed me, as I went in, <br>And sank upon a chair; <br>And fixed her grey eyes on my face, <br>With still, unseeing stare. <br>And, as she waited patiently, <br>I could not bear to feel <br>Those still, grey eyes that followed me, <br>Those eyes that plucked the heart from me, <br>Those eyes that sucked the breath from me <br>And curdled the warm blood in me, <br>Those eyes that cut me to the bone, <br>And cut my marrow like cold steel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so I rose and sought a stone; <br>And cut it smooth and square: <br>And, as I worked, she sat and watched, <br>Beside me, in her chair. <br>Night after night, by candlelight, <br>I cut her lover's name: <br>Night after night, so still and white, <br>And like a ghost she came; <br>And sat beside me, in her chair, <br>And watched with eyes aflame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She eyed each stroke, <br>And hardly stirred: <br>she never spoke <br>A single word: <br>And not a sound or murmur broke <br>The quiet, save the mallet stroke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With still eyes ever on my hands, <br>With eyes that seemed to burn my hands, <br>My wincing, overwearied hands, <br>She watched, with bloodless lips apart, <br>And silent, indrawn breath: <br>And every stroke my chisel cut, <br>Death cut still deeper in her heart: <br>The two of us were chiselling, <br>Together, I and Death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when at length my job was done, <br>And I had laid the mallet by, <br>As if, at last, her peace were won, <br>She breathed his name, and, with a sigh, <br>Passed slowly through the open door: <br>And never crossed my threshold more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Next night I laboured late, alone, <br>To cut her name upon the stone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Wilfred+Wilson+Gibson">Wilfred Wilson Gibson</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=536293" data-title="The Stone de Wilfred Wilson Gibson" data-description="&quot;And will you cut a stone for him, 
To set above his head? 
And will you cut a stone for him-- 
A stone for him?&quot; she said.

Three days before, a splintered rock 
Had struck her lover dead-- 
Had struck him in the quarry dead, 
Where, ca..."></div>
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