Classic Poem

An autobiographical episode

I hear them whispering — what is it?
" Lizzie Wescott — hush! "
Where is she? Yesterday she was here —
So nice, so pretty, with curly hair —
Here at her desk, like me.
It's something awful — where is she?
" Hush — Lizzie Wescott is dead. "
Dead.
What is it to be dead?

It is to be white — and still —
And to lie in a coffin
And to be buried in the ground.
Lizzie Wescott will be buried in the ground.

To be sure she was old, six years older than me —
Sixteen.
But that wasn't so very old.
Her curly hair will be buried in the ground.

Can we see her lying white and still
Before they put her in the ground?
Can we go to see her in her coffin?

No, they won't let us.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was hard to go to bed,
And think of her in the dark.
And it's hard to come to school and hear them whispering.
It's something more — oh, tell me!
Tell me!

" She did it, hush — she took a poison, she killed herself —
She committed suicide. "

Oh hush — don't say it — why must I listen?
What do they call it? —
" Suicide. "

Then she wanted to lie white and still, curly hair and all,
And be buried forever in the ground.
Why?
But we mustn't ask why — nobody will tell.
We can crowd around her house — where she is lying white and still,
But nobody comes out — nobody will ever tell us.
Why?

Then a person can shut them all out — all the other children,
And school, and our green back-yard, and the lake, and the sky;
And lie down in her bed, and do it all alone,
And never open her mouth to say no when they put her in the ground!

" Commit suicide, " they call it.
But what does God think of it? and Jesus?
She used to come to Sunday-school —
Perhaps the minister will tell us.

" Think where she is now! " he says, and he's almost crying.
And I have to cry — we all have to cry out loud.
" Think where she is now! " — he says it again and again.

Where is she now then? Didn't they put her in the ground —
White and still, with curly hair?
But, oh yes, she had something else —
She had a soul!
What is that — a soul?

It's something inside of you that you can't see —
Something that tells you about God,
And flies out when you die,
Like smoke from a fire.

And her little soul sinned a great sin.
God Himself, high on His Throne in Heaven,
Forgiving my sins every night when I pray to Him —
God Himself could never forgive so great a sin.
So her little soul is burning now in hell,
And will never burn up forever.

How could she do it! — she liked to dance in the sun!
How could she lie down stiff, and sin so great a sin,
And send her little soul to burn in hell forever!

Suicide — even God could not forgive her!
" Think where she is now! "

It's awful — too awful to think of.
Why do I have to think of it?
It's too awful for God to think of, sitting there happy on His Great White Throne,
With angels around Him.
How could He send her little soul to burn in hell forever!
He couldn't.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She loved to dance in the sun, and she put them all out —
The grass and the sky.
She had curly hair, and pretty dresses, and she smoothed them all out
To lie down stiff and still
Under the ground.
She made the day night, and the night darker —
When I shut my eyes in the closet, it's not so dark.
She said hush to all the voices, and the dog's barking,
And the proud trotting of horses when they race up and down,
And the shouting of all the girls and boys.

She was grown up —
She might have lived to be very old,
With white hair like Grandma.
I used to see her every day, and now I'll never see her again.
How could she do it?

It's easy then —
Between day-time and day-time she did it,
In one little night,
And she never told anybody — of course she couldn't,
In the morning they found her — they thought she was sleeping in her bed,
But she was lying white and still.

It's easy — anybody might do it —
Yes, even me!
I'm not too little to shut out Wezie and Rover,
And Mama and Papa and the big willow-tree,
And lie down still and white
And be buried in the ground.
I'm afraid I'll have to.

Why do I think of it all the time,
God?
Please take the thought away from me —
I don't want to!
It's too dark for a little girl down there,
And too cold.
Take it away!
He doesn't take it away.

If I step on that crack in the sidewalk I'll have to do it —
Oh awful, if I should step on that crack!
Help me over it, God — surely You don't want me to do it!
Thank You!
Oh, help me!

I couldn't tell Wezie — no, never! —
She would laugh.
Nor Mama, nor anybody.
There's only God to help me, and He's very far away,
And very old.
I couldn't tell anybody.

Why am I running so fast —
Running away!
Oh, why did I see it —
That big blue bottle with Poison on it, and a skull — and two bones!
Now I'll have to do it —
It's right there — so near!
How can I help it now?

If I step on that red rose in the carpet I'll have to take it —
One swallow would be enough.
If I step on that rose I'll have to open the closet door,
And take out the bottle and drink some.
Oh, help me not to! —
I don't want to fall white and still,
And be buried in the ground.

Why did they put it there so near —
For me?
I'm afraid to pass that closet —
I'm afraid, afraid!
I'm afraid all the time of the skull on it —
When I wake up in the night it laughs at me.
God, surely You don't want a little girl to sin so great a sin,
And shut You out in the sky,
And be put out of Your sight in the ground.

Every day and every night just the same.
That rose in the carpet is always there —
I don't want to step on it.
If I have to do it, what will You say to my little flying soul —
When I am lying white and still
Down in the ground?

What did You say to her soul? — she didn't want to either.
What did You say?