Should I die to-night, and you saw me not
Again till my soul had fled
With its vain request, and my features wore
The white hue of the dead—
Would you place just once, in a last caress,
Your hand on my death-damp hair?
Would you give me a thought, or a fond regret?
Would you kiss me, love?—would you care?
A THOUGHT OF HEAVEN.
Friend of my heart, you say to me
That your belief is this—
The heaven is but a vision rare
Of pure, ethereal bliss.
And life there but a dream enhanced,
Where never sound alarms;
Where flowers ne'er fade and skies ne'er cloud,
And voiceless music charms—
And save as see we in our dreams
The dear ones gone before,
The friends that here we knew and loved,
We'll know and love no more.
An endless and unbroken rest,
Nor change, nor night, nor day,
Where aimless, as in sleep, we'll dream
Eternity away.
Sweet friend of mine, that Heaven of thine
Methinks if overblest;
We could not work on earth enough
To need so long a rest.
Our human nature could not be
Content with rest like this,
And even bliss could cloy, if we
Had nothing else but bliss.
Great Nature's hand, in every plan,
Had laid in wise design,
But what design, or use, is in
This theory of thine?