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Show TRAGEDY. Only a simple woman she, whom Love, In some sad, listless way, grew weary of. So plain the fact, so commonplace the thing, Empty and cheap and void of coloring. Yet all the tragedies of. earth, I wis, Have nothing in their wounds that hurt like this. No grand, sharp blow, sudden to ease the pain; Only the ceaseless ache of heart and brain The uselessness of toil and life and soul A causeless journey to a dreary goal. Only a simple woman she, whom Love Waxed weary of. McCrea Pickering, in Smart Set. |