Lyrical Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Where she lies low—where she lies low
The great world and its clamours sleep:
The low soft winds above her creep,
With sighing whispers through the grass,
And shake the tearful flowers that blow
Where she lies low.

The ghostly height of ancient walls,
Gray watchmen o'er the couch of death,
Stand shrouded in the marish breath,
Till first the stealthy dawn strikes through,
And smites them with a silvery glow
Where she lies low.

But ever, ever higher yet,
Blithe reveller on pinion strong,
The lark pours out himself in song;

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Then wearied on her turf he drops,
And folds his speckled wings in woe
Where she lies low.

—The earth transfigures her in light:
The living sun is whirl'd on high:—
O golden day! O happy sky!
O bright satiety of bliss!
Ye mock the settled shades of woe
Where she lies low.

And childhood seats her on the turf,
And shares the noontide meal with joy:
Girl smiles to girl: boy laughs to boy:
—They go:—the robin quits the bush,
And treads the careless flowers that grow
Where she lies low.

And Evening crimsons through the blue;
And as a bride with cheeks aflame,
Day dyes her face in happy shame,
And blushes at her own delight:
—But lengthening shades of twilight flow
Where she lies low.

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O irony of joyless joy!
Pale azure of the heartless sky!
O cold keen stars, unmoved on high!
O all bright things, your glory veil!
There is but one deep night of woe
Where she lies low.

Is there no pity in the sun,
No note of grief in childly mirth?
Is there no echo from the earth?
Is there no answer in the sky?
No hint from Heaven that will'd it so,
Where she lies low?

—Where she lies low—where she lies low,
There is the hush of holy sleep:
The dewy flowers in silence weep:
There is no place for voice or cry:
It is the utter heart of woe
Where she lies low.