Explore "Edith Conant" by Edgar Lee Masters on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
We stand about this place -- we, the memories;
And shade our eyes because we dread to read:
"June 17th, 1884, aged 21 years and 3 days."
And all things are changed.
And we -- we, the memories, stand here for ourselves alone, / For no eye marks us, or would know why we are here.
Your husband is dead, your sister lives far away, / Your father is bent with age;
He has forgotten you, he scarcely leaves the house / Any more.
No one remembers your exquisite face, / Your lyric voice!
How you sang, even on the morning you were stricken, / With piercing sweetness, with thrilling sorrow, / Before the advent of the child which died with you.
It is all forgotten, save by us, the memories, / Who are forgotten by the world.
All is changed, save the river and the hill --
Even they are changed.
Only the burning sun and the quiet stars are the same.
And we -- we, the memories, stand here in awe, / Our eyes closed with the weariness of tears --
In immeasurable weariness!