That mere despair said: “This cold look and touch
Must be the cruel last!”
If she had known the longing and the pain.
If she had only guessed—
One look—one word—and she perhaps had lain
Reconciled on his breast!
Too late! Too late! All was ending now, the pain, the despair, of weary years and Death stared him in the face—Death that he had longed for often as the best friend of the wretched!
Why should we fear the beautiful angel Death,
Who waits us at the portals of the skies,
Ready to kiss away the struggling breath,