DALLAS : HIS DIRGE

DALLAS is dead.

It was the tenth of May When Dallas died, It was a week ago today, And what is left?

Sylvia. Sylvia cried "God, what is left?"

And " Sylvia," the wind replied.

Something of her lay dead at Dallas' side ; She moved and through a mist of tears, She saw the vista of the years.

" Dallas is dead," Said the dawn.

The Morning said " Dallas is gone " ; The dreamy afternoon Whispered " Soon, soon You will forget! "

But when the sun set She remembered still, Her heart was full Of him, and in the night She remembered his light.

Remembered he was dead So that the tears bled In her eyes And that her body ached With an infinity of tears and cries.

I looked at her and thought " How young you were For such a love! " And then " How young you are To be so sad. But sorrow has not made you old, Tragically young indeed the hand I hold, The hand that Dallas loved! " And the tears poured On to it, little hand th it he adored.

God, he had loved her! God, she had had his love I And, now that he was above And her tears like rain, I thought " God, you are young enough to start again! "

I had a Dallas too, No, he's not dead, I wish he were, though.

And I've got to make him die, So that this agony, This aching lethargy Of limb, this cry Of my heart may cease, And peace Be mine, Oh God divine Give me peace!

A year ago he sent his love to me, I laughed a little then, But soon the laughter grew to be A laugh of love. Amen.

He said he'd only lent his love to me, He came and took it back, and carte again With friendship this time. I Prayed God to make him die, To take away the ghost that haunted me, That is beloved of me, that drives me mad!

I had

No memories, and I've no youth, no love to give—

No loveliness while Dallas is alive.

DIANA JAMES.