VII.
Full well I know, Joy’s spring is fathomless,— Its fountains overflow To cheer and bless, And underneath our grief Well forth and give relief. Transported May! Thou couldst not stay; Who gave, took thee away. Come, child, and whisper peace to me, Say, must I wait, or come to thee? I list to hear Thy message clear.
VIII.
“Cease, cease, new grief to borrow!” Last night I heard her say; “For sorrow hath no morrow, ’T is born of yesterday. Translated thou shalt be, My cloudless daylight see, And bathe, as I, in fairest morrows endlessly.”
“Shall not from these remains, From this low mound, dear ashes of the dead, The violet spring?” Persius.
XIX.
O Death! thou utterest deeper speech, A tenderer, truer tone, Than all our languages can reach, Though all were voiced in one.
Thy glance is deep, and, far beyond All that our eyes do see, Assures to fairest hopes and fond Their immortality.
Sing, sing, the Immortals, The Ancients of days, Ever crowding the portals Of Time’s peopled ways; These Babes ever stealing Into Eden’s glad feeling, The fore-world revealing, God’s face ne’er concealing.
XX.