Fiddler's farewell

by Leonora Speyer

Over your dear dead heart I’ll lift

As blithely as a bough,

Saying, “Here lies the cruel song,

Cruelly quiet now.”

I’ll say, “Here lies the lying sword,

Still dripping with my truth;

Here lies the woven sheath I made,

Embroidered with my youth.”

I’ll sing, “Here lies, here lies, here lies—”

Ah, rust in peace below!