 | Poems by John B. Tabb |  |
30
MY PHOTOGRAPH.
My sister Sunshine smiled on me,
And of my visage wrought a shade.
“Behold,” she cried, “the mystery
Of which thou art afraid!
And of my visage wrought a shade.
“Behold,” she cried, “the mystery
Of which thou art afraid!
“For Death is but a tenderness,
A shadow, that unclouded Love
Hath fashioned in its own excess
Of radiance from above.”
A shadow, that unclouded Love
Hath fashioned in its own excess
Of radiance from above.”
| Poems by John B. Tabb | |