THRENODY
There's a grass-grown road from the valley—
A winding road and steep—
That leads to the quiet hill-top,
Where lies your love asleep....
While mine is lying, God knows where,
A hundred fathoms deep.
I saw you kneel at a grave-side—
How still a grave can be,
Wrapped in the tender starlight,
Far from the moaning sea!
But through all dreams and starlight,
The breakers call to me.
Oh, steep is your way to Silence—
But steeper the ways I roam,
For never a road can take me
Beyond the wind and foam,
And never a road can reach him
Who lies so far from home.
Ruth Guthrie Harding [1882-
STRONG AS DEATH
O death, when thou shalt come to me
From out thy dark, where she is now,
Come not with graveyard smell on thee,
Or withered roses on thy brow.
Come not, O Death, with hollow tone,
And soundless step, and clammy hand—
Lo, I am now no less alone
Than in thy desolate, doubtful land;