Verse > Anthologies > Sara Teasdale, ed. > The Answering Voice
Sara Teasdale, comp. (1884–1933).
The Answering Voice: One Hundred Love Lyrics by Women.  1917.
A Connaught Lament
By Nora Chesson
I WILL arise and go hence to the west,
And dig me a grave where the hill-winds call;
But oh, were I dead, were I dust, the fall
Of my own love’s footstep would break my rest!
My heart in my bosom is black as a sloe!        5
I heed not cuckoo, nor wren, nor swallow:
Like a flying leaf in the sky’s blue hollow
The heart in my breast is, that beats so low.
Because of the words your lips have spoken,
(O dear black head that I must not follow)        10
My heart is a grave that is stripped and hollow,
As ice on the water my heart is broken.
O lips forgetful and kindness fickle,
The swallow goes south with you: I go west
Where fields are empty and scythes at rest.        15
I am the poppy and you the sickle;
My heart is broken within my breast.

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