DYING, still slowly dying, As the hours of night rode by, She had lain since the light of sunset Was red on the evening sky: Till after the middle watches, As we softly near her trod, When her soul from its prison fetters Was loosed by the hand of God. One moment her pale lips trembled With the triumph she might not tell, As the sight of the life immortal On her spirit's vision fell; Then the look of rapture faded, And the beautiful smile was faint, As that in some convent picture, On the face of a dying saint. And we felt in the lonesome midnight, As we sat by the silent dead, What a light, on the path going downward, The feet of the righteous shed; When we thought how, with faith unshrinking, She came to the Jordan's tide, And, taking the hand of the Saviour, Went up on the heavenly side. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO A LADY TO ANSWER DIRECTLY WITH YEA OR NAY by THOMAS WYATT BACCHANALIA; OR, THE NEW AGE by MATTHEW ARNOLD NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 4 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TROILUS AND CRESSIDA [CRISEYDE] by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |