The bird is dead
That sang this morning through the summer rain!
Sorrow, my friend,
I owe my soul to you.
And if my life with any glory end
Of tenderness for others, and the words are true,
Said, honoring, when I'm dead,--
Sorrow, to you, the mellow praise, the funeral
wreath, are due.
And yet, my friend,
When love and joy are strong,
Your terrible visage from my sight I rend
With glances to blue heaven. Hovering along,
By mine your shadow led,
"Away!" I shriek, "nor dare to work my new-sprung mercies wrong!"
Still, you are near:
Who can your care withstand?
When deep eternity shall look most clear,
Sending bright waves to kiss the trembling land,
My joy shall disappear,--
A flaming torch thrown to the golden sea by your pale hand.
PRIDE: FATE.
Lullaby on the wing
Of my song, O my own!
Soft airs of evening
Join my song's murmuring tone.
Lullaby, O my love!
Close your eyes, lake-like clear;
Lullaby, while above
Wake the stars, with heaven near.
Lullaby, sweet, so still
In arms of death; I alone
Sing lullaby, like a rill,
To your form, cold as a stone.
Lullaby, O my heart!
Sleep in peace, all alone;
Night has come, and your part
For loving is wholly done!
FRANCIE.
I loved a child as we should love
Each other everywhere;
I cared more for his happiness
Than I dreaded my own despair.
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