6
A SHEAF GLEANED
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL.
Though childhood’s days were past and gone,
More innocent no child could be;
Though grace in every feature shone,
Her maiden heart was fancy free.
A few more months, or haply days,
And Love would blossom,—so we thought,
As lifts in April's genial rays
The rose its clusters richly wrought.
But God had destined otherwise,
And so she gently fell asleep,
A creature of the starry skies,
Too lovely for the earth to keep.
She died in earliest womanhood;
Thus dies, and leaves behind no trace,
A bird’s song in a leafy wood,—
Thus melts a sweet smile from a face.
