 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
212
MY MOURNER.
I lie here very still; and he draws nigh
To stand beside me, and to look his last
On her who far beyond his ken has passed,
Yet rests here, 'neath his touch, so tranquilly;
From the shut lips there comes no least, low sigh;
No eyelash quivers, and white Death holds fast,
In long embrace by longing dreams forecast,
The life that had known Life's satiety.
To stand beside me, and to look his last
On her who far beyond his ken has passed,
Yet rests here, 'neath his touch, so tranquilly;
From the shut lips there comes no least, low sigh;
No eyelash quivers, and white Death holds fast,
In long embrace by longing dreams forecast,
The life that had known Life's satiety.
I laughed and loved and wept, and now I sleep;
And that were best of all, if no dreams come
To mar this quietude of slumber, deep
And still as some deep night when winds are dumb;
But he, my mourner, wherefore should he keep
Intrusive vigil round my silent home?
And that were best of all, if no dreams come
To mar this quietude of slumber, deep
And still as some deep night when winds are dumb;
But he, my mourner, wherefore should he keep
Intrusive vigil round my silent home?
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |