English Roses :: :: University of Virginia Library

Death came to me and said “Arise”
And leave this world of sorrow
With baby things thou shouldst despise,
And meet a fairer morrow;
I love thee, gentle woman child,
Though thou art young and little,
But life is sad and brittle
And winter winds are often wild;
For thou art dearer to me far
Than to thy earthly kin,
Here is the door, uplift the bar
And boldly enter in.”

I answered Death who came to me
An angel in his splendour,
“I cannot walk alone with thee,
For I am small and tender:
If I could only with me take
My precious toys and brothers,
I'd give the earth to others
And care not what I did forsake;
But with no parents, I may ill
Enjoy the weary way;
And if no sisters go, who will
Remain with me to play?”

Death came to me again, and cried,
“Arouse thyself, make ready,
The day is short and rest denied,
Thy aims are all unsteady;

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Renounce those idle works and flee
The world and vapid pleasures,
Its trifles and its treasures,
And turn to nobler tasks with me:
I love thee for thy radiant youth,
As comrades have not done;
Awake, and I will shew thee truth
And beauty both are one.”

I answered death, who did appear
Garbed as in hasty travel,
“The hours are bright companions dear,
With riddles to unravel;
I cannot journey with thee yet,
The leaves are green and sappy,
And I am far too happy,
To move before the sun has set;
Unless I gather of the fruits
That ripen at my hand,
And carry with me my pursuits
And passions to thy land.”

Death came to me once more, arrayed
In miry pilgrim vesture,
And said, “Thou hast too much delayed,”
With quick imperious gesture;
“Gird up thy robe, prepare thy mind,
For noontide now is mellow
And I require a fellow.
Woe is before and shame behind:
I love thee and in kindness call,
Though thou art wedded wife,
Beneath the shadow of the pall
I would redeem thy life.”

I answered death, who summoned so
My service with fit reason,
“I am too busy now to go
And wait a proper season;
I cannot break the thousand ties
That link me to the mortal,

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And at thy gloomy portal
The world with every wisdom flies;
And I must drink more wisdom yet
The cup of human bliss,
And then I gladly will forget
Gold hair and crimson kiss.”

Death came to me again, and said,
“The day is nearly over,
I need thee sorely and thy aid,
Thou hast been long a rover;
Ah, light thy lamp with blessèd oil,
And hasten ere the curtain
Of night with rays uncertain
Descend upon thy dreary toil:
I love thee, O my sister, best
In spite of foolish fears,
And lead thee to the living rest
Beyond the barren years.”

I answered Death, whose face was cold
And withered sore with sadness,
“I am a useless thing and old
And yearn for ease and gladness;
I cannot wend that bitter road
Without some kindly neighbour,
I have no strength for labour
And faint beneath the lightest load;
And I must warm my chilly frame
Before the friendly fire,
And grow familiar with thy name
Till one is our desire.”

Death came no more with muffled feet
To see my lamp was kindled,
Though earth no longer now seemed sweet
And flowers to dust had dwindled;
Yea, though I hungered for the tread
Which erst I deemed no saving
But now was my one craving,
Yet death at last himself was dead;

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And thus I carry in my breast
The world's unbroken tie,
In grim repose which is unrest,
And now I cannot die.

Death cometh not, who hath to some
Pale suppliants for pity
With speed, and never can he come
To me in fields or city;
He takes the comrades from my side,
The grandchild from my bosom
In brighter realms to blossom,
And every joy that would abide;
But me he leaves to suffer on
With heavy brow and breath,
With all the life of living gone
And still without the Death.