Little Wild Baby

Through the fierce fever I nursed him, and then he said
I was the woman—I!—that he would wed;
He sent a boat with men for his own white priest,
And he gave my father horses, and made a feast.
I am his wife: if he has forgotten me,
I will not live for...

Poet: Margaret Thomson Janvier
The Dead Doll

You needn’t be trying to comfort me—I tell you my dolly is dead!
There ’s no use in saying she isn’t, with a crack like that in her head.
It ’s just like you said it wouldn’t hurt much to have my tooth out, that day;
And then, when the man ’most pulled my head off, you...

Poet: Margaret Thomson Janvier