Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By HenryPeterson297 Rinaldo
B
To drink before I die;
Though earthly joys I must resign,
I ’ll breathe no earthly sigh.
I ’ve had on earth my way,
For with the gun or with the knife,
I made mankind obey.
Though he was false, she true,
It matters not—they sleep in peace.
What more can I or you?
Around my infant head,
And I was left an orphan child,
An outcast’s path to tread.
My vine was planted where
Nor hand did tend, nor warm sun shine,
And mildew filled the air.
I did not, in the mart,
Lie, cheat, and steal with purpose cold.
Mine was too frank a heart.
And get more than their due;
Though solemn phrases veil the sin,
The thief’s eye glances through.
And love which all men crave;
I took the first with strong right hand,
The last I left a slave.
Who made him such God knows,—
He can but fail who measures strength
Against a world of foes.
Before the bell tolls three,
For better men than I and mine
Have died upon the tree.