LOVE BEYOND THE GRAVE. 71 



But ye, — alas ! beneath God's spreading sky 

 Your hearts and hers may meet no more forever ! 



So dimly and with grief ye bow the head 



To meet the birthday of the early dead ! 



" She sleeps — she sleeps — and ye are bent in gloom, 

 Cheerless your home and desolate your hearth, 

 Listless ye wander on from room to room, 

 Missing the loveliest smile in all the earth ; 

 Music is silent, for ye could not bear 

 Her keys should waken at another's touch, 

 Her flowers are tended, but the white rose there 

 Speaks of her purity — too much — too much. 



And ye must weep, and bow the grief worn head 



To meet the birth-day of the early dead ! 



" She sleeps — she sleeps — when she hath slept before 

 A tear would tremble 'neath her eye's dark fringe ; 

 On that soft cheek, whose color comes no more, 

 Some restless dream would throw a fever tinge ; 

 Now her high heart is still — her earnest soul 

 Is dim no more with shadows of the past, 

 But with the breaking of that ' golden bowl,' 

 Your hopes were shivered, and their radiance cast. 



So dimly and with grief ye bow the head 



To meet the birth day of the early dead ! 



" She sleeps — she sleeps — but let the grateful air 

 Come freshly to each dim and aching brow, 

 'Tis borne from her low grave whose slumber there 

 Hath wakened in your hearts this anguish now, 



