The Suicide’s Soliloquy Abraham Loncoln 

Here, where the lonely hooting owl 

Sends forth his midnight moans, 

Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl, 

Or buzzards pick my bones. 
No fellow-man shall learn my fate, 

Or where my ashes lie; 

Unless by beasts drawn round their bait, 

Or by the ravens’ cry. 
Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do, 

And this the place to do it: 

This heart I’ll rush a dagger through, 

Though I in hell should rue it! 
Hell! What is hell to one like me 

Who pleasures never know; 

By friends consigned to misery, 

By hope deserted too? 
To ease me of this power to think, 

That through my bosom raves, 

I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink, 

And wallow in its waves. 
Though devils yell, and burning chains 

May waken long regret; 

Their frightful screams, and piercing pains, 

Will help me to forget. 
Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night, 

To take that fiery berth! 

Think not with tales of hell to fright 

Me, who am damn’d on earth! 
Sweet steel! come forth from your sheath, 

And glist’ning, speak your powers; 

Rip up the organs of my breath, 

And draw my blood in showers! 
I strike! It quivers in that heart 

Which drives me to this end; 

I draw and kiss the bloody dart, 

My last—my only friend!

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.