And when the moon, on another night,
Beheld her lying still and white,
It sighed, "'Tis well! now all is right."
And when one morning the sun arose,
And they bore her bier down the garden-close,
It touched her, saying, "At last, repose."
And they laid her down, so young and fair,
Where the grass was withered, the bough was bare,
All wrapped in the light of her golden hair....
So autumn passed and the winter went;
And spring, like a blue-eyed penitent,
Came, telling her beads of blossom and scent.
And, lo! to the grave of the beautiful
The strong sun cried, "Why art thou dull?
Awake! awake! Forget thy skull!"
And the evening star and the moon above
Called out, "O dust, now speak thereof!
Proclaim thyself! Arise, O love!"
And the skull and the dust in the darkness beard.
Each icy germ in its cerements stirred,
As Lazarus moved at the Lord's loud word.
And a flower arose on the mound of green,
White as the robe of the Nazarene;
To testify of the life unseen.
And I paused by the grave; then went my way:
And it seemed that I heard the lily say—
"Here was a miracle wrought to-day."