Poems by Hartley Coleridge :: :: University of Virginia Library

Think not, my friend, my heart or hand are cold
Because I do not, and I cannot weep.
Too sudden was the knowledge of the woe,
And it requires some time, some thoughtful pause,
Ere we believe what but too well we know.
Some men are lessoned long in sorrow's school,
And serve a long apprenticeship to grief,
So, when the ill day comes, their minds are clad
In funeral garments. Death came here at once,
Like the sun's setting in the level sea;
No meek, pale warning, melancholy eve,
Weaned the fond eyesight from the joyous day;
'Twas full-orbed day, and then 'twas total night—
Sad night for us, but better day for her.
Well may'st thou mourn, but mourn not without hope:
Thou art not one, I know, that can believe
A pausing pulse, an intermitted breath,
Or aught that can to mortal flesh befal,

186

Can turn to nothing any way of God,
Or frustrate one good purpose of our Lord.
She was a purpose of the great Creator,
Begun on earth, and well on earth pursued,
Now in the heaven of heavens consummate,
Or happy waiting the predestined day,
The flower and glory of her consummation.