Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/A sketch

by Frances Elizabeth Browne

For works with similar titles, see A sketch.

A SKETCH.

I saw her in beauty, I saw her in pride,
 In life's brightest lustre, youth's earliest bloom,
When her cheek with the hue of that rose might have vied,
 That decks the green sod which encircles her tomb.

I saw her when, colorless, faded, and pale,
 That lily her delicate emblem might be;—
Or the marble on which is inscribed her sad tale,
 Warning others they soon may lie lowly as she.

I saw her encircled with each magic charm,
 With each witching spell, which earth has to bestow,
And I saw her shrink back in dismay and alarm,
 When death, hovering over her, menaced his blow.

I saw her when suffering had blanched her fair cheek,
 And her eyes, once so brilliant, now trembled with tears;
But a sweet, placid smile, and her accents so meek,
 Assured us religion had banished her fears.

In health's brightest bloom, she never had seemed
 So lovely, so beauteous, so heavenly, as now;
When her eye, and her smile, with wild gayety beamed,
 And her pale cheek was flushed with a delicate glow.

I saw her as calmly she yielded her breath;
 The tear was now gone, but the smile still remained
On her beautiful features, when sleeping in death,
 Which no trace of her sufferings or sorrow retained.