Poems (Chilton, 1885)/A Memory
A MEMORY.
A year ago, in this dear month of May,
I heard a voice borne o'er the waters say:
"Weep, for her gentle soul has passed away."
I heard a voice borne o'er the waters say:
"Weep, for her gentle soul has passed away."
The words had scarcely ceased, when on her face
I gazed, or so it seemed, but saw no trace
Of aught save life, and loveliness, and grace.
I gazed, or so it seemed, but saw no trace
Of aught save life, and loveliness, and grace.
In an unconscious attitude of rest
She lay, with hands cross-folded on her breast—
Looking, indeed, like one supremely blest.
She lay, with hands cross-folded on her breast—
Looking, indeed, like one supremely blest.
There was no change, save only that a light,
Left by death's kiss upon her brow so white,
Glimmered about her face, and made it bright.
Left by death's kiss upon her brow so white,
Glimmered about her face, and made it bright.
"What is this mystery of death?" I said:
"Who are the living? Are not they the dead
Who weep, in bonds of flesh, the spirit fled?"
"Who are the living? Are not they the dead
Who weep, in bonds of flesh, the spirit fled?"
An answer, but from whence I could not tell,
Upon my ear like softest music fell:
All is of God. He doeth, all things well!"
Upon my ear like softest music fell:
All is of God. He doeth, all things well!"
Then looking up towards the far blue skies,
Her whom we mourn I saw, in angel guise,
Smiling beside the gates of Paradise.
Her whom we mourn I saw, in angel guise,
Smiling beside the gates of Paradise.