Poems (Chilton, 1885)/Stanzas Suggested by the Death of Miss Canda
STANZAS.
[SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF CHARLOTTE CANDA.][*]
I stood beside the bed of death,
A stranger who had come to see
How one so fair might look whose breath
Was yielded up in agony:
And as I gazed I'wept for her
Who lay so coldly quiet there:—
Such griefs all human hearts should stir,—
Such griefs all human hearts should share.
A stranger who had come to see
How one so fair might look whose breath
Was yielded up in agony:
And as I gazed I'wept for her
Who lay so coldly quiet there:—
Such griefs all human hearts should stir,—
Such griefs all human hearts should share.
No trace of anguish marked her face,
It bore not e'en the look of death,
But seemed so fresh and full of grace,
I almost listened for her breath!
Around her pure white brow was twined
A simple wreath of snowy flowers;
Mute emblems of her spotless mind,—
She wore them in her living hours!
It bore not e'en the look of death,
But seemed so fresh and full of grace,
I almost listened for her breath!
Around her pure white brow was twined
A simple wreath of snowy flowers;
Mute emblems of her spotless mind,—
She wore them in her living hours!
Upon her face—sweet type of rest!—
Lingered a calm and holy smile,
As on the frozen streamlet's breast
The fading sunbeam sleeps awhile.
It seemed as if her soul had caught,
A moment ere it passed away,
A glimpse of heavenly joys, which wrought
Its impress on the yielding clay.
Lingered a calm and holy smile,
As on the frozen streamlet's breast
The fading sunbeam sleeps awhile.
It seemed as if her soul had caught,
A moment ere it passed away,
A glimpse of heavenly joys, which wrought
Its impress on the yielding clay.
The sleeper—for she seemed, though dead,
To slumber in a dream,—was one
Whose living presence round her shed
A constant glory like the sun.
Before her smile the mists of care
Fled as the mists of morning fly,—
For joy compels all things to wear
The brightness of its own glad eye.
To slumber in a dream,—was one
Whose living presence round her shed
A constant glory like the sun.
Before her smile the mists of care
Fled as the mists of morning fly,—
For joy compels all things to wear
The brightness of its own glad eye.
I thought of this, and well could guess
The grief that burst in sobs so wild,
But not the specchless, calm distress
Of those who once had called her child:
Their lingering gaze cut, like a knife,
All the heart's dearest, holiest ties,
As the sweet picture of her life
Passed and repassed their streaming eyes.
The grief that burst in sobs so wild,
But not the specchless, calm distress
Of those who once had called her child:
Their lingering gaze cut, like a knife,
All the heart's dearest, holiest ties,
As the sweet picture of her life
Passed and repassed their streaming eyes.
I grieved that one so fair should lie
In the cold precincts of the tomb,—
Dying, with none to see her die,
Even in her very hour of bloom!
We know the spotless soul takes wing,
Triumphant in the mortal strife,
But ah! the weeping heart will cling
Round the dear form so loved in life!
In the cold precincts of the tomb,—
Dying, with none to see her die,
Even in her very hour of bloom!
We know the spotless soul takes wing,
Triumphant in the mortal strife,
But ah! the weeping heart will cling
Round the dear form so loved in life!
↑ * A lovely young lady, who was thrown from a carriage and instantly killed while returning from an evening party in N. Y. City many years since. Her grave in Greenwood Cemetery is marked by a very elaborate and beautiful monument of Italian marble.