Poems (Trask)/The Death-Bed

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

THE DEATH-BED.

Faintly came her breathing
 From her troubled breast;
Feebly on the pillows
 Sank her head to rest.
Calmly closed her eyelids,
 Passed her smile away,
As the morning vapors
 Flee the light of day.

Paler grew her forehead
 With each panting breath,
Ghastly o'er her features
 Lay the seal of death.
Clasped her slender fingers
 On her bosom meek;
Fell the golden tresses
 O'er her pallid cheek.

Passed her breath so calmly
 That we never knew
When she walked in shadow
 Death's dark valley through;
Never knew the moment
 When she paused to rest,
At the gate which foldeth
 Ever in the Blest.

Passed she like the fragrance
 Of some fading flower,
Or like summer sunbeams
 When the tempests lower;
Left us but her memory,
 Sweet for evermore,—
Earth has lost her for us,
 Heaven will restore.