Poetry Archives

We look up to the stars tonight,
  Idolatrous of them,
And dream that Heaven is in sight,
And each a ray of purest light
  From some celestial gem
  In her bright diadem.

Before that lonely home we wait,
  Ah! nevermore to see
Her lovely form within the gate
Where heart and hearthstone desolate
  And vine and shrub and tree
  Seem asking: “Where is she?”

There is the cottage Love had planned—
  Where hope in ashes lies—
A tower beautiful to stand,
Her monument whose gentle hand
  And presence in the skies
  Make home of Paradise.

In wintry bleakness nature glows
  Beneath the stellar ray;
We see the mold, but not the rose,
And meditate if knowledge goes
  Into yon mound of clay,
  With her who passed away.

Of sighs, and tears, and joys denied
  Do echoes reach up there?
Do seraphs know—God does—how wide
And deep is sorrow’s bitter tide
  Of dolor and despair,
  And darkness everywhere?

Dear angel, snatched from our caress,
  So suddenly withdrawn,
Alone are we and comfortless;
As in a dome of emptiness
  The old routine goes on,
  Aimless, since thou art gone.

Oh, dearer unto us than aught
  In all the world beside
Of thee to cherish blessed thought;
So early thy sweet mission wrought,
  As friend, as promised bride,
  Who lived, and loved, and died.