 | Poems by Rose Terry |  |
96
A PICTURE.
Upon her pale cheek, day by day,
No tender, rosy blushes play;
The shadows gathered on her hair
Lie soft above her forehead fair;
A frailer shade is she.
No tender, rosy blushes play;
The shadows gathered on her hair
Lie soft above her forehead fair;
A frailer shade is she.
No footstep on the stone goes by,
But strikes a fire across her eye;
No sudden voice a word can speak,
But flashes red light on her cheek;
Such guards her quick thoughts be.
But strikes a fire across her eye;
No sudden voice a word can speak,
But flashes red light on her cheek;
Such guards her quick thoughts be.
All day she sees the sullen rain
Splash slow against the window-pane;
All night the south-wind makes its moan,
About her chamber low and lone;
She cannot die nor rest.
Splash slow against the window-pane;
All night the south-wind makes its moan,
About her chamber low and lone;
She cannot die nor rest.
Like some old saint in cell withdrawn,
In prayer and penance till the dawn,
So her sad soul its vigil holds,
As year on year to life unfolds,
And wears her patient breast.
In prayer and penance till the dawn,
97
As year on year to life unfolds,
And wears her patient breast.
Not any leech can find a cure
For these slow miseries that endure,
Till heaven before her eyes shall ope
The golden gate foreseen by hope,
And medicine her heart.
For these slow miseries that endure,
Till heaven before her eyes shall ope
The golden gate foreseen by hope,
And medicine her heart.
There is no new life for the dead,
No gathering up the tears once shed;
Pray, ye beloved, who pity her,
That God no more that rest defer;
Pray that her soul depart.
No gathering up the tears once shed;
Pray, ye beloved, who pity her,
That God no more that rest defer;
Pray that her soul depart.
| Poems by Rose Terry | |