 | Poems |  |
SONNET.
[I would not think that I have look'd my last]
I would not think that I have look'd my lastOn that seraphic face, those heavenly eyes;
Nor that, when thou shalt from the grave arise,
Thy mortal beauty will be gone and past;
Fain would I cleave to the fond vision fast—
That in our final home beyond the skies
Soul shall meet soul in its corporeal guise,
Changed, not destroyed, by that dread trumpet-blast.
Such hope doth Scripture warrant; such may we
In humble trust hold firmly, though as yet
We know not what hereafter we shall be,
But in our dim half-knowledge guess and fret,
Till nature shall have paid her final debt
And death be swallow'd up in victory.
| Poems | |