Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 33

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XXXIII "HE KNOWETH NOT THAT THE DEAD ARE THINE"
The weapon that you fought with was a word,
And with that word you stabbed me to the heart.
Not once but twice you did it, for the sword
   Made no blood start.

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They have not tried you for your life. You go
Strong in such innocence as men will boast.
They have not buried me. They do not know
   Life from its ghost.

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