 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
BE STILL.
Come, bring me wild pinks from the valleys,
Ablaze with the fire o' the sun—
No poor little pitiful lilies
That speak of a life that is done!
Ablaze with the fire o' the sun—
No poor little pitiful lilies
That speak of a life that is done!
And open the windows to lighten
The wearisome chamber of pain—
The eyes of my darling will brighten
To see the green hill-tops again.
The wearisome chamber of pain—
The eyes of my darling will brighten
To see the green hill-tops again.
Choose tunes with a lullaby flowing,
And sing through the watches you keep
Be soft with your coming and going—
Be soft! she is falling asleep.
And sing through the watches you keep
Be soft with your coming and going—
Be soft! she is falling asleep.
Ah, what would my life be without her!
Pray God that I never may know!
Dear friends, as you gather about her,
Be low with your weeping—be low.
Pray God that I never may know!
Dear friends, as you gather about her,
Be low with your weeping—be low.
Be low, oh, be low with your weeping!
Your sobs would be sorrow to her;
I tremble lest while she is sleeping
A rose on her pillow should stir.
Your sobs would be sorrow to her;
I tremble lest while she is sleeping
A rose on her pillow should stir.
Sing slower, sing softer and slower!
Her sweet cheek is losing its red—
Sing low, aye, sing lower and lower—
Be still, oh, be still! She is dead.
Her sweet cheek is losing its red—
Sing low, aye, sing lower and lower—
Be still, oh, be still! She is dead.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |