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Paul Laurence Dunbar - The Murdered Lover
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Say a mass for my soul`s repose, my brother,
    Say a mass for my soul`s repose, I need it,
  Lovingly lived we, the sons of one mother,
    Mine was the sin, but I pray you not heed it.

  Dark were her eyes as the sloe and they called me,
    Called me with voice independent of breath.
  God! how my heart beat; her beauty appalled me,
    Dazed me, and drew to the sea-brink of death.

  Lithe was her form like a willow. She beckoned,
    What could I do save to follow and follow,
  Nothing of right or result could be reckoned;
    Life without her was unworthy and hollow.

  Ay, but I wronged thee, my brother, my brother;
    Ah, but I loved her, thy beautiful wife.
  Shade of our father, and soul of our mother,
    Have I not paid for my love with my life?

  Dark was the night when, revengeful, I met you,
    Deep in the heart of a desolate land.
  Warm was the life-blood which angrily wet you
    Sharp was the knife that I felt from your hand.

  Wept you, oh, wept you, alone by the river,
    When my stark carcass you secretly sank.
  Ha, now I see that you tremble and shiver;
    `T was but my spirit that passed when you shrank!

  Weep not, oh, weep not, `t is over, `t is over;
    Stir the dark weeds with the turn of the tide;
  Go, thou hast sent me forth, ever a rover,
    Rest and the sweet realm of heaven denied.

  Say a mass for my soul`s repose, my brother,
    Say a mass for my soul, I need it.
  Sin of mine was it, and sin of no other,
    Mine was it all, but I pray you not heed it.
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