Aside

Alfred De Musset


Poor girl !
Thou art no longer fair.
By watching death with patient care.
Thou pale as he art grows
by tending upon human pain.
Thy hand is worm as coarsein grain
as horny labor’s oun.
But weartiness and courge meek illuminate.
Thy palled cheek beside the dying bed.
To the poor suffering mortal’s clutch.
Thy hard hand hath agentle touch with tears and warm blood fed.
Tread to the end
thy lonely road
all for thy task and toward the God.
Thy footsteps day by day.
That evil must exist.
We prate and wisely leave it to its fate
and pass another way.

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