 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
90
[Let your warm hands chill not, slipping]
“Let your warm hands chill not, slippingFrom my fingers' icy tips;
Be there not the touch of kisses
On my uncaressing lips;
Let no kindness see the blindness
Of my eyes' last, long eclipse.
Never think of me as lying
By the dismal mould o'erspread:
But about the soft white pillow
Folded underneath my head,
And of summer flowers weaving
Their rich broidery o'er my bed.
Think of the immortal spirit
Living up above the sky,
And of how my face is wearing
Light of immortality;
Looking earthward, is o'erleaning
The white bastion of the sky.”
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |