 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
HARRIET.
Down the west the gust is rushing
Through the twilight's cloudy bars,
And the crescent moon is pushing
Her slim horn between the stars.
Through the twilight's cloudy bars,
And the crescent moon is pushing
Her slim horn between the stars.
Now the winter night is falling
O'er the hills of crispéd snow,
But she hears, she says, the calling
Of an angel, and must go.
O'er the hills of crispéd snow,
But she hears, she says, the calling
Of an angel, and must go.
She is pale and very weary,
But her thin lips never moan,
And though night is chill and dreary,
Fears she not to go alone.
But her thin lips never moan,
And though night is chill and dreary,
Fears she not to go alone.
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Surely, when the shroud shall cover
Her meek beauty, death subdued,
From his eyes who was her lover,
He will love her angelhood.
Her meek beauty, death subdued,
From his eyes who was her lover,
He will love her angelhood.
He that, for the wine-cup's kisses
Sold away her gentle love—
Not alas, for holy blisses,
Earthly, or of heaven above.
Sold away her gentle love—
Not alas, for holy blisses,
Earthly, or of heaven above.
Morning sadly, dimly presses
Up the orient, and the few
Belated stars their yellow tresses
Gather from her pathway blue.
Up the orient, and the few
Belated stars their yellow tresses
Gather from her pathway blue.
Broader now the light is falling,
And the day comes on and on,
As the angel skyward calling,
Calls no longer—she is gone.
And the day comes on and on,
As the angel skyward calling,
Calls no longer—she is gone.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |