 | Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems |  |
THE DYING BEAUTY.
Earth's shadows fly;
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of eternity,
Until death tramples it to fragments—die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!
Follow where all is fled!—
Adonais;
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of eternity,
Until death tramples it to fragments—die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!
Follow where all is fled!—
Adonais;
She died in beauty, like the morn that rose
In golden glory on the brow of night,
And passed off gently like the evening's close,
When day's last steps upon the heavens are bright.
She died in beauty, like the trampled flower
That yields its fragrance to the passer's feet,
For all her life was as an April shower,
That kept the tear-drops of her parting sweet.
And like the rainbows of the sunny skies,
The dew-drop fillet of the brow of even—
That blends its colours as the evening dies—
Her beauty melted in the light of heaven
In golden glory on the brow of night,
And passed off gently like the evening's close,
When day's last steps upon the heavens are bright.
She died in beauty, like the trampled flower
That yields its fragrance to the passer's feet,
For all her life was as an April shower,
That kept the tear-drops of her parting sweet.
And like the rainbows of the sunny skies,
The dew-drop fillet of the brow of even—
That blends its colours as the evening dies—
Her beauty melted in the light of heaven
50
She died in softness, like the last sad tone
That lingers gently on the midnight ear,
When beauty wanders from her bower alone,
And no one answers, but the voice is near.
She died in beauty, like the lonesome dove
That seeks her fledglings in the desert air,
And hastes away from out the flowery grove
To seek the little ones that nestled there.
And like the humming-bird that seeks the bower,
But wings her swiftly from the place away,
And bears the dew-drop from the fading flower—
Her spirit wandered to the isle of day.
That lingers gently on the midnight ear,
When beauty wanders from her bower alone,
And no one answers, but the voice is near.
She died in beauty, like the lonesome dove
That seeks her fledglings in the desert air,
And hastes away from out the flowery grove
To seek the little ones that nestled there.
And like the humming-bird that seeks the bower,
But wings her swiftly from the place away,
And bears the dew-drop from the fading flower—
Her spirit wandered to the isle of day.
She died in meekness, like the noiseless lamb
When slain upon the altar by the knife,
And lay reclining on her couch so calm,
That all who saw her said she still had life.
She died in softness, like the Dorian flute,
When heard melodious on the hills at night,
When every voice but that loved one is mute,
And all the holy heavens above are bright.
And like the turtle that has lost her love,
She hastened quickly from the world to rest;
And passed off gently to the realms above,
To reign forever in her Father's breast.
When slain upon the altar by the knife,
And lay reclining on her couch so calm,
That all who saw her said she still had life.
She died in softness, like the Dorian flute,
When heard melodious on the hills at night,
When every voice but that loved one is mute,
And all the holy heavens above are bright.
And like the turtle that has lost her love,
She hastened quickly from the world to rest;
And passed off gently to the realms above,
To reign forever in her Father's breast.
She died in glory, like the setting sun,
Whose radiance mingles with the azure skies,
That blends so softly they appear but one,
And, dying, lives the life that never dies.
She died in sweetness, like the ocean shell,
Whose tones are lost upon the moaning deep,
And lay so calmly that we could not tell
Her slumber differed from an infant's sleep.
And like the lake, with swans upon its breast,
The ripples waving to the reedy shore—
She settled softly to her final rest,
And met her Father to be grieved no more.
Whose radiance mingles with the azure skies,
That blends so softly they appear but one,
And, dying, lives the life that never dies.
She died in sweetness, like the ocean shell,
Whose tones are lost upon the moaning deep,
And lay so calmly that we could not tell
Her slumber differed from an infant's sleep.
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The ripples waving to the reedy shore—
She settled softly to her final rest,
And met her Father to be grieved no more.
| Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems | |