Lying adying -- Such sweet things untasted, Such rare beauties wasted: Her hair a hidden treasure, Her voice a lost pleasure; Her soul made void of passion; Her body going to nothing Though long it took to fashion, Soon to be a loathing: Her road hath no turning, Her light is burning burning With last feeble flashes; Dying from the birth: Dust to dust, earth to earth, Ashes to ashes. Lo, in the Room, the Upper, She shall sit down to supper, New bathed from head to feet And on Christ gazing; Her mouth kept clean and sweet Shall laugh and sing, God praising: Then shall be no more weeping, Or fear, or sorrow, Or waking more, or sleeping, Or night, or morrow, Or cadence in the song Of songs, or thirst, or hunger; The strong shall rise more strong And the young younger. Our tender little dove Meek-eyed and simple, Our love goes home to Love; There shall she walk in white Where God shall be the Light And God the Temple. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STORY OF AUGUSTUS WHO WOULD NOT HAVE ANY SOUP by HEINRICH HOFFMANN A WORD TO THE WEST END by THOMAS ASHE BRUCE: HOW KING ROBERT WAS HUNTED BY THE SLEUTH-HOUND by JOHN BARBOUR A SUMMER DAY by HENRY CHARLES BEECHING PSALM 5; AUGUST 12, 1653 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |