THE handful here, that once was Mary's earth, Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul, That, when she died, all recognized her birth, And had their sorrow in serene control. "Not here! not here!" to every mourner's heart The wintry wind seemed whispering round her bier; And when the tomb-door opened, with a start We heard it echoed from within, -- "Not here!" Shouldst thou, sad pilgrim, who mayst hither pass, Note in these flowers a delicater hue, Should spring come earlier to this hallowed grass, Or the bee later linger on the dew, -- Know that her spirit to her body lent Such sweetness, grace, as only goodness can; That even her dust, and this her monument, Have yet a spell to stay one lonely man, -- Lonely through life, but looking for the day When what is mortal of himself shall sleep, When human passion shall have passed away, And Love no longer be a thing to weep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CALL TO THE COLORS by ARTHUR GUITERMAN SIR JOHN FRANKLIN; ON THE CENTOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALFRED TENNYSON HYMN, COMPOSED FOR THE CHILDREN OF A SUNDAY SCHOOL by BERNARD BARTON SPRING'S IMMORTALITY by H. T. MACKENZIE BELL PSALM 150 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE TO MY BROTHER (1) by MARY BRYAN MOMENT MUSICALE by BLISS CARMAN |