Words for the Hour/Sue
SUE.
She was a freak of Nature's joy, A flow'ret wonder-pied,—As startling as a pansy found Black-leaved, and golden eyed.
Her voice was borrowed from the choir That rings the vernal years;Her temper was ethereal fire That calmed itself in tears.
Some nameless touch of God's delight Fell on her, as she layAn infant, dreaming heavenly dreams, And never passed away.
Her laughter, many-voiced and full, Had not one scornful strain;Her eyes, that flashed defiant mirth, Were tender and humane.
She wore the radiance of her youth As though she felt it not;And while she held you with her speech, Her beauty was forgot.
For Soul to outward Beauty is As Sun to dawning Day,The rosy drapery vanishes Before the conquering ray.
Twas hers to move in fearlessness, And throne herself at ease;Too royal were her gifts, that she Should condescend to please.
Oh! dread and discontent-of life! Do angels reason whyThe small of soul grow smaller still, While great hearts break and die?********She left us in the sweet, calm June, When all things tend to rest;And her own bud of summer lay Half-ripened in her breast.
It needs no name to make her known— Her form of love and graceEndures to marble in true hearts, Her deathless resting-place.
Yet could I an immortal paint In high, heroic glee,Outvying summer winds and waves In leaping ecstasy;
But sorrow-touched, as having borne A woman's destiny,Quick tears, in loving eyes surprised Would answer: This is She.