She
made a little shadow-hidden grave,
The day Faith died;
Therein she laid it, heard the clod’s sick fall,
And smiled aside —
“If less I ask,” tear-blind, she mocked, “I may
Be less denied.”
She set a rose to blossom in her hair,
The day Faith died —
“Now glad,” she said, “and free at last, I go,
And life is wide.”
But through long nights she stared into the dark,
And knew she lied.
The Dead Faith
Fannie Heaslip Lea