Death At Morning

She died when dawn was sweeping o'er the land,
When morning-glories lit the gleaming wall;
And one who watched her, holding her pale hand,
Whispered, 'Alas, that she should miss it all!'

The early sun, risen from his dark night,
Flamed his great banners when she went away;
And one said, 'Lo! at coming of the light
She has gone forth, and lost the beauteous day.'

But she, from her poor mortal house of pain
Gladly released, went singing to God's place,
And cried, 'Dear Lord, after the bleak world-rain,
I cannot bear the brightness of Thy face!'

by Charles Hanson Towne

Other poems of CHARLES HANSON TOWNE (106)

Comments (3)

Thank you Akhtar for stopping by and creating new lines. I am glad it inspired you.
Lines from Gloire de Dijon In the window full of sunlight Concentrates her golden shadow Fold on fold, until it glows as Mellow as the glory roses. Beautiful poem, beautiful homage. well wrote Ravi Kopra.
My lines pale against the yellow roses, Against the glistening silver shoulders, Against the sluicing sounds Of rain disheveled petals. I desire now my day white lilies I feel this is your best poem, and makes me to write