Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/Death of an Invalid

by Lydia Sigourney

DEATH OF AN INVALID.

HOW oft, reviving Invalid, would'st thou,
    When vernal plants diffus'd their blossoms fair,
Salute the opening scene with cheerful brow,
    And hail the genial freshness of the air.

How oft would'st thou the passing hour beguile,
    Though health refus'd to flush thy cheek again,
Oh, I shall miss thy custom'd morning smile,
    Though pale beneath the shaft of lingering pain.

Placid and gentle ev'n in life's decline,
    Though no fair hand thy lonely path did strew,
Well pleas'd to see the joys of youth, though thine,
    Chill'd by the hand of age, were faint and few.

Buried and stiff, awhile thy form must rest,
    The cold, damp earth thy dream of life must blot.
Thus all, like thee, shall sink on Natures breast,
    Like thee be mourn'd a moment—then forgot.

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