Poems (Welby)/Sudden Death
For works with similar titles, see Sudden Death.
SUDDEN DEATH.
How still she lies upon her pillow sinking,
With her white folded hands upon her breast!
The rosy morn disturbs not her sweet thinking—
And fails the lark to rouse her from her rest.
She sleeps as if her soul exhaled in sighs—
As if her lover's kisses closed her eyes!
With her white folded hands upon her breast!
The rosy morn disturbs not her sweet thinking—
And fails the lark to rouse her from her rest.
She sleeps as if her soul exhaled in sighs—
As if her lover's kisses closed her eyes!
How still she lies! But list—through her hushed chamber
A sudden sound of childish glee hath spread;
While little forms with laughing voices clamber
O'er her soft bosom, and about her bed.
They toss their golden locks before her eyes,
Crying, in sportive tones —"Rise, sister, rise!
A sudden sound of childish glee hath spread;
While little forms with laughing voices clamber
O'er her soft bosom, and about her bed.
They toss their golden locks before her eyes,
Crying, in sportive tones —"Rise, sister, rise!
"Oh, rise! We've been away among the flowers,
And had such gambols with the bird and bee;
The young things thought to give us chase for hours,
But were not lighter on the wing than we.
And see! we stole their buds and flowers in play—
Oh rise, sweet sister—rise and come away!"
And had such gambols with the bird and bee;
The young things thought to give us chase for hours,
But were not lighter on the wing than we.
And see! we stole their buds and flowers in play—
Oh rise, sweet sister—rise and come away!"
Alas, ye glad young creatures! o'er that fair
And polished cheek your kisses fall in vain.
No sister's voice can wake the stillness there.
Nor bring the red- rose to that cheek again!
Nor wake those smiles—nor bow that lovely head
To meet your soft embraces—she is dead!
And polished cheek your kisses fall in vain.
No sister's voice can wake the stillness there.
Nor bring the red- rose to that cheek again!
Nor wake those smiles—nor bow that lovely head
To meet your soft embraces—she is dead!
Away! bear back your buds and blossoms fair—
Break not the stillness of that awful room!
Your cheerful tones awake no echo there—
Would that your glee could gladden up its gloom.
But 't is in vain—Death shadows o'er the spot—
Bear back your buds and flowers—she heeds them not!
Break not the stillness of that awful room!
Your cheerful tones awake no echo there—
Would that your glee could gladden up its gloom.
But 't is in vain—Death shadows o'er the spot—
Bear back your buds and flowers—she heeds them not!
But for the spell that now her fair form cumbers,
Soon had she flown your fairy forms to meet;
But Death o'ertook her in her rosy slumbers,
And hushed her answering voice—and chained her feet!
And now with moveless lips and closed eyes,
Pale on her couch your darling sister lies.
Soon had she flown your fairy forms to meet;
But Death o'ertook her in her rosy slumbers,
And hushed her answering voice—and chained her feet!
And now with moveless lips and closed eyes,
Pale on her couch your darling sister lies.
Alas, that lovely sister! Yesternight
She moved the fairest 'mid the festive throng,
With step so joyous, and with voice so light,
That Music's self seemed discord to its song.
Fair, and exulting in youth's fleeting breath,
How long to her seemed life—how distant Death!
She moved the fairest 'mid the festive throng,
With step so joyous, and with voice so light,
That Music's self seemed discord to its song.
Fair, and exulting in youth's fleeting breath,
How long to her seemed life—how distant Death!
And when upon her pillow soft and still,
With her blue eye fixed on the moon's pale beams,
Guileless of heart, and thinking of no ill,
And gliding off, so sweetly, to her dreams—
Death's awful shadow o'er her slumber past!
But life to her was lovely to the last.
With her blue eye fixed on the moon's pale beams,
Guileless of heart, and thinking of no ill,
And gliding off, so sweetly, to her dreams—
Death's awful shadow o'er her slumber past!
But life to her was lovely to the last.
Translated thus to lovelier worlds than ours,
Without a pang, she knows not of decay,
Nor how she wandered to those blissful bowers,
Nor what it was that stole her breath away.
Nor feels her bark, safe moored in Heaven at last—
To reach that Heaven—the dreary gulf it past!
Without a pang, she knows not of decay,
Nor how she wandered to those blissful bowers,
Nor what it was that stole her breath away.
Nor feels her bark, safe moored in Heaven at last—
To reach that Heaven—the dreary gulf it past!
Brief was her sojourn in youth's beauteous bowers—
She floated calm adown life's glittering tide,
Bright as the beams, and fragrant as the flowers
Amid whose glowing hues she lived and died—
Ere fickle friendship filled her heart with tears,
Or passion marred the peace of her young years.
She floated calm adown life's glittering tide,
Bright as the beams, and fragrant as the flowers
Amid whose glowing hues she lived and died—
Ere fickle friendship filled her heart with tears,
Or passion marred the peace of her young years.
And she is dead! Death's cold and withering touch
Hath quenched in that young breast life's perfumed flame.
She whom her fair young sisters loved so much!
She whom her parents dear delight to name!
Frail is the tenure of our mortal breath—
Yea, "in the midst of life we are in death!"
Hath quenched in that young breast life's perfumed flame.
She whom her fair young sisters loved so much!
She whom her parents dear delight to name!
Frail is the tenure of our mortal breath—
Yea, "in the midst of life we are in death!"