The Last Word

by Zona Gale

　　

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The Last Word was featured in Harper's Magazine, November, 1903.

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ERE I sit with eighty years ⁠Buried somewhere in my bones. I can only see the world ⁠Move along in monotones. All the peril of the sun ⁠And the laughter too are done. (Hear the fools there in the passage ⁠Talk of larger vision won!) Grace o' God, can they not see ⁠That the wisdom comes too late? Oh, my heart is bitter full ⁠Of reflections delicate On the beauty that is truth, ⁠On the art that saves, forsooth. (Hear the fools there in the passage ⁠Mourn the blindness of their youth!) I have lived the utter life, ⁠Loved the color, loved the word, Let no light die unresisting, ⁠Let no far flute fail unheard. All my days and nights are lit ⁠With a secret exquisite (Hear the little voice come calling ⁠All the weary pain of it!) Little voice that used to laugh, ⁠Little voice that used to sing— Somewhere in those eighty years— ⁠Lullaby and love-longing. I must listen, I must weep ⁠For the voice I could not keep. (Oh, the silence of the darkness ⁠Where was breath of her asleep!) Here they come to bring me praise, ⁠Here they come, there they go, Lauding loud the work I've done, ⁠Books a-many in a row. And they envy me and sigh, ⁠And they think those books are I. Fools there, with some heart to love you, ⁠Pass the larger wisdom by!

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