07.05.2007, 12:05
They say that thou wert lovely on the bier,
More lovely than in life; that when the thrall
Of earth was loosed, it seemed as though a pall
Of years were lifted, and thou didst appear
Such as of old amidst thy home’s calm sphere
Thou sat’st, a kindly Presence felt by all
In joy or grief, from morn to evening-fall,
The peaceful Genius of that mansion dear.
Was it the craft of all-persuading Love
That wrought this marvel? or is Death indeed
A mighty master, gifted from above
With alchemy benign, to wounded hearts
Minist’ring thus, by quaint and subtle arts,
Strange comfort, whereon after-thought may feed?
More lovely than in life; that when the thrall
Of earth was loosed, it seemed as though a pall
Of years were lifted, and thou didst appear
Such as of old amidst thy home’s calm sphere
Thou sat’st, a kindly Presence felt by all
In joy or grief, from morn to evening-fall,
The peaceful Genius of that mansion dear.
Was it the craft of all-persuading Love
That wrought this marvel? or is Death indeed
A mighty master, gifted from above
With alchemy benign, to wounded hearts
Minist’ring thus, by quaint and subtle arts,
Strange comfort, whereon after-thought may feed?