Then this is death--
How strange, how strange! Another hour,
Of joyous life, of love, and all is o'er,
The scarcely opened blossom perished in its flower! And I so young!
Ah, when I first awoke to hear
The music rung
From what had once been only held so dear,
Because in outward show it glimmered bright and clear; (As children prize
The shell whose pearl is breathed o'er
With vermeil dyes,
Yet feel their joy grow deeper than before
When taught by loving care the secret of its roar: ) It seemed to me
The longest life was all too fleet
For one to hear the mighty ages beat
Their hidden meanings out in harmony complete. And now I die!
And all the hopes which girlhood hath,
Go softly by,
Stranding upon the silent shores of Death;
Like little boats blown home by twilight's purple breath. Nay rather, Heart,
Like little boats that at the dawn
In joy depart,
And on towards the open sea are borne,
Where rounds to perfect noon, a vague, imperfect morn.