The Growth of Lorraine by Edwin Arlington Robinson
While I stood listening, discreetly dumb, Lorraine was having the last word with me: â€œI know,â€ she said, â€œI know it, but you see Some creatures are born fortunate, and some Are born to be found out and overcome,â€” Born to be slaves, to let the rest go free; And if Iâ€™m one of them (and I must be) You may as well forget me and go home.
â€œYou tell me not to say these things, I know, But I should never try to be content: Iâ€™ve gone too far; the life would be too slow. Some could have done itâ€”some girls have the stuff; But I canâ€™t do it: I donâ€™t know enough. Iâ€™m going to the devil.â€â€”And she went.
I did not half believe her when she said That I should never hear from her again; Nor when I found a letter from Lorraine, Was I surprised or grieved at what I read: â€œDear friend, when you find this, I shall be dead. You are too far away to make me stop. They say that one dropâ€”think of it, one drop!â€” Will be enough,â€”but Iâ€™ll take five instead.
â€œYou do not frown because I call you friend, For I would have you glad that I still keep Your memory, and even at the endâ€” Impenitent, sick, shatteredâ€”cannot curse The love that flings, for better or for worse, This worn-out, cast-out flesh of mine to sleep.â€