Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
His Share and Mine
By Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt (18361919)H
His sweet hands rest at morning and at noon;
A few faint rose-buds—and be white and cold.
No more will blossom here so fair as they.
My hands instead of his, I do not care.
To look into the world’s wild light and shut:
Their share of tears is left for me to weep.
What love, what anguish, will he ever know?
And cries unsatisfied shall be my own.
Were here with him—with him they vanished too.
I take, with every dreary thing he lost.
Forevermore shall overshadow me.
Touched the Dim Path and made its Twilight sweet.