 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
THE CHANGE.
I
Was it Truth; was it Vision? The old year was dying;Clear rang the last chime from the turret of stone;
The mountain hung black o'er the village low-lying;
O'er the moon, rushing forward, loose vapours were blown;
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Wafting on, like a bier, upon pinions outspread
An angel-like Form that of death had no traces:—
Without pain she had died in her sleep; but was dead.
II
Was it Truth; was it Vision? The darkness was riven;Once more through the infinite breast of pure night
From heaven there looked downward, more beauteous than heaven,
A visage whose sadness was lost in its light:—
‘Why seek'st thou, my son, 'mid the dead for the living?
Thy Country is risen, and lives on in thy Faith;
I died but to live; and now, Life and Life-giving,
Where'er the Cross triumphs I conquer in death.’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |