I know what my remorse will be, Then when her final pulses stir: "She did so many things for me, And I so few, so few for her. "Dear, patient hands that toiled so long, Where were your kisses, overdue? Dear, patient feet, so swift, so strong, Where was the box of nard for you?" On that sad day, alas! will come The saddest grief, the blackest blot: "I saw, and yet my lips were dumb; I knew, and yet I did it not." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JASPER by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON A MAN'S VOCATION IS NOBODY'S BUSINESS by JAMES GALVIN FICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO HORACE BUMSTEAD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ITALIAN PICTURES: JULY IN VALLOMBROSA by MINA LOY SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMOS SIBLEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |