Poems (Hazlett-Bevis)/The Sunshine of Death

by Sophia Courtoulde Hazlett-Bevis

The Sunshine of Death.

'Twas a glint of golden sunshine
 Glancing in an open door,
Struggling through the creeping vines
 To bathe a sanded floor;

It fell aslant a sleeping face,
 And touched the silken curls
That nestled 'round a forehead chaste
 As morning dew, or pearls.

'Twas only a crippled orphan,
 Of summers scarcely ten,
Tho' looking like a wee, old man—
 So pinched and pale; but when

The sunlight touched his pillow,
 And turned his hair to gold,
He smiled and said: "Will-o'-
 The-Wisp, I've caught you now to hold."

And opening wide his big blue eyes,
 He gave a sudden grasp;
And then he stared in mild surprise
 As nought his fingers clasp.

"What is it, dear?" And grandma calm,
 With sweetly plaintive voice,
Came to his couch, "My little lamb
 Why do you so rejoice?"

"Oh, grandma, I had such a dream,
 So beautiful and long;
A dazzling light in it did seem
 To fill the air with song;

"I thought it was a brilliant bird—
 Will-o'-the-Wisp—so sweet
The charming music that I heard,
 I shadowed its retreat;

"And when I came quite close and low,
 I softly thrust my hand
Into a fragrant bush, when lo!
 I caught the sunshine's strand;

"See how it lingers 'bout my bed,
 So lovingly and warm,
And bathes my weary aching head
 With such a soothing charm;

"I've been so tired, all night through,
 I'm better now," he said;
The white lids drooped o'er eyes of blue,
 A smile—and he was dead.