BURY her with her shining hair Around her streaming bright; Bury her with those locks so rare Enrobing her in light. As saints, who in their native sky Their golden haloes wear, Around her forehead, pure and high, Enwreathe her shining hair. She was too frail on earth to stay, I never saw a face On which, of premature decay Was set so plain a trace. She was too pure to linger here, Amid the homes of earth; Her spirit in another sphere Had its immortal birth. She was not one to live and love Amid earth's fading things; Her being had its home above, And spread immortal wings. And around her now, as still she sleeps Encoffin'd in her prime, No eye in anguish'd sorrow weeps, For grief is here sublime. Even while she lived, an awe was cast Around her loveliness; It seem'd as if, whene'er she pass'd, A spirit came to bless. A child upraised its tiny hands, And cried -- "Oh, weep no more, Mother! behold an angel stands Before our cottage door." We would not bring her back to life, With word, or charm, or sign -- Nor yet recall to scenes of strife A creature all divine. We would not even ask to shred One tress of golden gleam, That o'er that fair and perfect head Sheds a refulgent beam. No! -- lay her with her shining hair Around her flowing bright; We would not keep, of one so rare, Memorials in our sight. Too harsh a shade would seem to lie On all things here beneath, If we beheld one token by, Of her who sleeps in death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOHENLINDEN by THOMAS CAMPBELL LITTLE SNAIL by HILDA CONKLING THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 16 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE LOVE OF GOD by ELIZA SCUDDER THE EMPEROR OF ICE-CREAM by WALLACE STEVENS THE TOOTHPICK by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 3 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 29 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |