If I could only weep,
I think sweet help with my salt tears would come,
To ease the cruel pain that is so dumb,
   And will not let me sleep.

   Down in my heart, down deep
A poisoned arrow burns. It would fall out
And tears would wash the wound, I have no doubt,
   If I could only weep.

   Maybe my pulse would leap,
And bring one thrill back, of a vanished day,
Instead of throbbing in this dull, dead way,
   If I could only weep.

   O silent Fates who steep
Nectar or gall for us through all the years,
Take what thou wilt, but give me back my tears,
   And let me weep and weep.

Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.

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