A Song Of Suicide

 Deeming that I were better dead,
"How shall I kill myself?" I said.

Thus mooning by the river Seine
I sought extinction without pain,
When on a bridge I saw a flash
Of lingerie and heard a splash .
 .
 .

So as I am a swimmer stout
I plunged and pulled the poor wretch out.
 

The female that I saved? Ah yes,
To yield the Morgue of one corpse the less,
Apart from all heroic action,
Gave me a moral satisfaction.

was she an old and withered hag,
Too tired of life to long to lag?
Ah no, she was so young and fair
I fell in love with her right there.
 

And when she took me to her attic
Her gratitude was most emphatic.

A sweet and simple girl she proved,
Distraught because the man she loved
In battle his life-blood had shed .
 .
 .

So I, too, told her of my dead,
The girl who in a garret grey
Had coughed and coughed her life away.
 

Thus as we sought our griefs to smother,
With kisses we consoled each other .
 .
 .

And there's the ending of my story;
It wasn't grim, it wasn't gory.

For comforted were hearts forlorn,
And from black sorrow joy was born:
So may our dead dears be forgiving,
And bless the rapture of the living.

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