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Complaint Of a Forsaken Indian Woman, The Analysis



Author: Poetry of William Wordsworth Type: Poetry Views: 605

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Before I see another day,

Oh let my body die away!

In sleep I heard the northern gleams;

The stars, they were among my dreams;

In rustling conflict through the skies,

I heard, I saw the flashes drive,

And yet they are upon my eyes,

And yet I am alive;

Before I see another day,

Oh let my body die away!



My fire is dead: it knew no pain;

Yet is it dead, and I remain:

All stiff with ice the ashes lie;

And they are dead, and I will die.

When I was well, I wished to live,

For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;

But they to me no joy can give,

No pleasure now, and no desire.

Then here contented will I lie

Alone, I cannot fear to die.



Alas! ye might have dragged me on

Another day, a single one!

Too soon I yielded to despair;

Why did ye listen to my prayer

When ye were gone my limb were stronger;

And oh, how grievously I rue,

That, afterward, a little longer,

My friends, I did not follow you!

For strong and without pain I lay,

Dear friends, when ye were gone away.



My Child! they gave thee to another,

A woman who was not thy mother.

When from my arms my Babe they took,

On me how strangely did he look !

Through his whole body something ran,

A most strange working did I see;

---As if he strove to be a man,

That he might pull the sledge for me:

And then he stretched his arm, how wild!

Oh mercy! like a helpless child.



My little joy! my little pride!

In two day more I must have died.

Then do not weep and grieve for me;

I feel I must have died with thee.

O wind, that o'er my head art flying

The way my friends their course did bend,

I should not feel the pain of dying,

Could I with thee a message end;

Too soon, my friend, ye went away;

For I had many thing to say.



I'll follow you across the snow;

Ye travel heavily and slow;

In spite of all my weary pain

I'll look upon your tent again.

---My fire is dead, and snowy white

The water which beside it stood:

The wolf has come to me to-night,

And he has stolen away my food.

Forever left alone am I;

Then wherefore should I fear to die ?



Young as I am, my course is run,

I shall not see another sun;

I cannot lift my limb to know

If they have any life or no.

My poor forsaken child, if I

For once could have thee close to me,

With happy heart I then would die,

And my last thought would happy be;

But thou, dear Babe, art far away,

Nor shall I see another day.










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