On the Death-Bed
“I’ll tell—being past all praying for—Then promptly die . . . He was out at the war,And got some scent of the intimacyThat was under way between her and me;And he stole back home, and appeared like a ghostOne night, at the very time almostThat I reached her house. Well, I shot him dead,And secretly buried him. Nothing was said.
“The news of the battle came next day;He was scheduled missing. I hurried away,Got out there, visited the field,And sent home word that a search revealedHe was one of the slain; though, lying aloneAnd stript, his body had not been known.
“But she suspected. I lost her love,Yea, my hope of earth, and of Heaven above;And my time’s now come, and I’ll pay the score,Though it be burning for evermore.”
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