The Anatomy of Suicide

by Forbes Winslow

“Still, still ’tis mine with grief and shame to rove,

A dire example of disastrous love;

While keen remorse for ever breaks my rest,

And raging furies haunt my conscious breast,

The lonely shades with terror must I view,

The shades shall every dreadful thought renew:

The rising sun shall equal horrors yield,

The sun that first the dire event revealed;

Still must I view myself with hateful eye,

And seek, though vainly, from myself to fly.”