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Dead Fires

by Jessie Redmon Fauset, 1922

If this is peace, this dead and leaden thing,
     Then better far the hateful fret, the sting.
Better the wound forever seeking balm
     Than this gray calm!

Is this pain's surcease? Better far the ache,
     The long-drawn dreary day, the night's white wake,
Better the choking sigh, the sobbing breath
     Than passion's death!


Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.