 | The poems, sacred, passionate, and humorous, of Nathaniel Parker Willis |  |
187
FRAGMENT OF A POEM,
WRITTEN FOR A MOTHER, AFTER THE DEATH OF A BELOVED AND BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER.
That she we loved is with us, here, no more,We tearfully and mournfully may say—
But not so mournfully that she is gone.
Like one uplifted in a march by night,
And borne on, to the morning, 'tis to her
But an unwearied minute to the dawn;
While we, with torn feet, on the darkling way,
Follow to that same home, where she's at rest
Waiting to give us welcome. Oh sad mother,
The voice, within the soft lips where your love
Look'd for its music, is all hush'd, we know!
The roses that it parted have grown pale.
But the same voice, with its accustom'd tones,
Lends to her sweet thoughts utterance where she is;
And oh, while, in the softer air of Heaven,
It unlearns only its complaining—say!—
Is't well to wish, that, even to the ears
That cannot sleep with aching for its music,
'Twere audible again? [OMITTED]
| The poems, sacred, passionate, and humorous, of Nathaniel Parker Willis | |