 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
LINES
ON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF A VERY BEAUTIFUL WOMAN THREE WEEKS AFTER HAVING MET HER AT A BALL.
Her dark, bright glances seemed to fall
With equal tenderness on all,
And shed such lustre o'er her cheek
As when the setting sunbeams break
An instant from the evening cloud
That seeks its crimson light to shroud,
And sheds upon the mountain snow
A bright and rosy tinted glow.
Her high, white forehead gave to view
Its branching veins of deepest blue;
The gentle touch of sickness there
Gave sweetness to a brow so fair;
Her form so exquisitely frail,
Her face so softly, purely pale,
Seemed as if to her soul was given
Already less of earth than heaven.
With equal tenderness on all,
And shed such lustre o'er her cheek
As when the setting sunbeams break
An instant from the evening cloud
That seeks its crimson light to shroud,
And sheds upon the mountain snow
A bright and rosy tinted glow.
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Its branching veins of deepest blue;
The gentle touch of sickness there
Gave sweetness to a brow so fair;
Her form so exquisitely frail,
Her face so softly, purely pale,
Seemed as if to her soul was given
Already less of earth than heaven.
And yet amid the festive throng
She paused to hear the mirthful song
And listened to the voice of mirth
As though she felt the joys of earth
Had yet some power left to impart
A sense of pleasure to her heart.
She paused to hear the mirthful song
And listened to the voice of mirth
As though she felt the joys of earth
Had yet some power left to impart
A sense of pleasure to her heart.
But though in all life's early bloom
She seemed soon destined for the tomb,
And it was this that bade each ray
Of beauty more serenely play;
'Twas this that gave a softened light
To eyes else too intensely bright;
'Twas this that threw a charm around
Her every movement; the sweet sound
Of her low voice the feelings stirred
Like tones of music faintly heard.
She seemed soon destined for the tomb,
And it was this that bade each ray
Of beauty more serenely play;
'Twas this that gave a softened light
To eyes else too intensely bright;
'Twas this that threw a charm around
Her every movement; the sweet sound
Of her low voice the feelings stirred
Like tones of music faintly heard.
Three little weeks—the funeral vest
Was folded o'er that gentle breast,
For Death had set his seal on all
So loved, so lovely; the dark pall,
Forever must that form enshroud
So late the idol of the crowd.
Was folded o'er that gentle breast,
For Death had set his seal on all
So loved, so lovely; the dark pall,
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So late the idol of the crowd.
Forgot by many, yet with me
Thy form shall live in memory,
Like half-traced shadows of a dream
Where all things fair and lovely seem—
Such shadows as the moonbeam makes
When half through silvery clouds it breaks.
Thy form shall live in memory,
Like half-traced shadows of a dream
Where all things fair and lovely seem—
Such shadows as the moonbeam makes
When half through silvery clouds it breaks.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |