Page:Poems Griffith.djvu/19

And who have gone before me to their home
In the high halls of yon star-lighted dome.
Forms all unknown will slumber near my side,
The poor remains, perchance, of wealth and pride,
And shafted monuments around will rise,
Mocking the green turf where the lone one lies.
But, sister, thou at gentle close of day,
Wilt often come upon my grave to lay
The fading flowers, sad emblems of the fate
Of the young stranger, lone and desolate.
And, sister dear, when thou shalt come to shed
Love's sacred tears above my humble bed,
I pray thee speak to me, and thou shalt hear
My voice soft-stealing on thy spirit-ear,
And thou shalt feel, as thrillingly as now,
My gentle kisses on thy sad, sweet brow.

Thus spake a young girl, pale, but beautiful
As a rapt poet's holiest dreams. The dull
Cold film of death was soon to dim her eye,
Still bright as yon clear jewel of the sky;