 | Poems |  |
198
THE PALE IMAGE.
When she lieth on her bed,
With a crown of lilies pale
Set upon her peaceful head;
And her true-love's kiss would fail
To restore a little red
To the blanchèd cheek;
When her hands, all white and cold,
On her cold cold breast are laid,
O'er the straight and snowy fold,
Palm to palm as though she prayed,—
Prayer to rest for aye untold
On that mouth so meek:
With a crown of lilies pale
Set upon her peaceful head;
And her true-love's kiss would fail
To restore a little red
To the blanchèd cheek;
When her hands, all white and cold,
On her cold cold breast are laid,
O'er the straight and snowy fold,
Palm to palm as though she prayed,—
Prayer to rest for aye untold
On that mouth so meek:
Do not gaze on her too much.
You that have the dearest right,
Press her lip with parting touch,
Leaving dimmed your misty sight:
Death is false,—and e'en to such
Gentle ones as she.
If you feed your loving eyes
Then when Death her bridegroom seems,
She shall come in deathly guise
Through your thoughts and through your dreams;
And when met in Paradise,
Scarcely known shall be.
You that have the dearest right,
199
Leaving dimmed your misty sight:
Death is false,—and e'en to such
Gentle ones as she.
If you feed your loving eyes
Then when Death her bridegroom seems,
She shall come in deathly guise
Through your thoughts and through your dreams;
And when met in Paradise,
Scarcely known shall be.
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