An English Madonna :: :: University of Virginia Library

What man of us believes that he will die? None surely.—
When o'er the Western sky the golden clouds stream, purely
Outspread before our gaze,
Who dreams that there will come a day when bright as ever
The clouds will kiss the sky,—yet his own soul will never
Again steer joyous through sky-creeks and bays?

Yes: all our friends may die. The dark-winged spirit may take them.
The fragrance of the flowers,—the sunlight,—may forsake them:

The streams may laugh to scorn
Their clinging souls that strive with passionate adherence
To linger in life:—the waves with giant perseverance
May slay the trembling keels across them borne.

It matters not to us. We boldly claim exemption
From this the lot of man,—deliverance and redemption
From death's fell arrow and dart.
“Somehow”—the fancy goes—“we shall escape his arrows:
Our boat will safely shoot along the white-lipped narrows:”—
So speaks the half conscious instinct in each heart.

When the next century's skies with sunset-fires are blended,
We surely shall be there to watch their flames extended
Across the pale air-leagues:
The thought that we shall pass is never grasped by mortal;
To think that for ourselves will yawn the white death-portal
Pains, and eludes the mind's grip, and fatigues.

Surely thou shalt not die! For us the dream is baseless.
But were not death of all high cosmic spirits most graceless
If he should step anear!
Can death assail the heart which only love should fetter?
Will death's hand,—not my hand,—write thee thy last love-letter?
Would pale death whisper in a rose's ear?

Oh, surely God will spare thy beauty and thy sweetness
And send the foot of death with unexampled fleetness
Some other road to take!
There are so many and many whom if he took them, never
Would Art or Life complain, or one song less for ever
Delight the morning, sounding at daybreak.

If Christ was spared, and took the upward road immortal:
If at his tread sprang back the bolts that guard the portal
Of deep dim purple sky:
Why should not God spare thee as well, and let thee trample

The vulgar head of death, just for one great example
Of how one woman was too sweet to die?

God might take one sea-bird, one flower,—and make this deathless.
One sweet Christ-lily, or rose, when other flowers fall breathless
Might ever immortal be:—
God might make deathless, just for heaven's eternal pleasure
And earth's, one woman fair in more than mortal measure:
If so, God's choice would surely fall on thee.