Poems (Linn)/Solace in Death
SOLACE IN DEATH.
ONE summer day in idle mood I hung above the time-worn beam Of an old bridge that spanned a streamWhich hurried through a lovely wood.
The brook in music flowed away; Above my head the white clouds curled; And down below another worldOf clouds and leaves that sleeping lay.
I never dreamed the world so fair; I longed to join the wild bird's song, I longed with him to sweep alongThe liquid, perfume-laden air.
I filled my soul with the sweet grace Of roses—fresh they were and bright: So perfect that it seemed the lightOf God was in each upturned face.
Bewildered I beheld them fall: The stream received them in its might, And bore them swiftly out of sight,Leaving my lips in vain to call,—
"Come back sweet roses, come again!" I held my hands across the tide: But oh! the distance grew more wide,And I was filled with childish pain.
The bright day did not seem so bright; The little wood-birds ceased their glee; The world was not the same to me;And sunset faded into night.
They did not fade as others do,— My roses: and I love to dream How fair they floated on the stream,Though such a grief to lose them so.
Their perfume did not die away, Their glory never ashen grew; They only passed beyond my viewA part of that sweet summer day.
And often since as I have laid Life's withered roses on the tomb Of buried hopes; fair visions comeOf those sweet flowers that did not fade;
But passed to where I could not see. I know it is some brighter place, Because my roses lend a graceThis world has lacked since then for me.