"A violet by a mossy stone, Half hidden from the eye, Fair as a star when only one Is shining in the sky.' —@3Wordsworth.@1 The house is changed where Mary lived. And, passing to and fro, I marveled that so many grieved That she from earth must go. A quiet little maid was she, And very sweet and shy; I knew not what she was to me Until she came to die. A single decade was she here, And then she slipped away; She vanished from the waning year And from the broadening day. Her coming brought a happy face That recent sorrow stilled; Her going made a vacant place That never can be filled. Beyond the filmy, flying drift, Beyond the stars she fled; And when my gaze aloft I lift I do not count her dead. Her grave is where the sunshine spills Its wealth o'er nature's charms; Around it are the sheltering hills, Beneath, the quiet farms. Does Mary ever think of earth? Does she come back again To "mix her fancies" with our mirth, And with our grief as then? Does she resume the vacant place And fill the empty seat? Is there a glory in her face The sun cannot repeat? We cannot tell what—more or less— To angel life is given; We do not know and cannot guess The ministries of Heaven. When death anoints our closing eyes Perchance their vision is That only fancied barriers rise Betwixt that life and this. That parting is a name—no more— Whatever mortals say; That Mary has not gone before, But dwells with us to-day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE by JAMES GALVIN LET ME NOT LOSES MY DREAM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RHYTHM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON (A NEGRO SERENADE) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE SUICIDE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |