Page:The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag.djvu/51

An Elegy to a Young Lady

What may'st thou be, O dark, mysterious Death,
  That thy cold touch a youthful life should blast;
That leaf and bud and tender, fragrant flower
  Should fall beneath thy frosted breath at last?

Affections twine round those we cherish dear,
  Nor cease, though raven locks be touched with gray.
Through fleeting years the journey may seem long;
  But evening shades proclaim the close of day.

In silent night we steal beside her couch;
  A mother's whispering voice we seem to hear;
"My child, a mother's hand shall lead the way;
  Though waves may toss the bark, the Pilot's near."

This day we come, our hearts o'erbrimmed with grief;
  We touch the bier beneath the form we love.
From wreath and bloom sweet streams of incense rise,
  And waft our thoughts to her in realms above.

1918

 

On the Death of a Centenarian

Yes, I have had the morning and the evening,
  And, too, the mid-day's glorious sunlit hours;
With generous earth in all her radiant freshness,
  And friendship's sweet and ever-blooming flowers.

But now my fragile bark lies in the offing;
  Why, then, entreat me for a longer stay?
At last I hear the raising of the anchor;
  With whitened sails at eve I glide away.

1918

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