  decorative BE still! A corpse lies there, a poor dead thing, With upturned face, white-lipped, the haggard features, Whereon once played a smile that gladdened hearts, Now set and cold. Circled with black and sunken Are now the eyes where stars were wont to sparkle, And Fate has drawn deep lines between the brows, That but a short time since seemed arched for mischief, And full of childish mirth. Close to the temples And it was golden once, like living rays, And waved about the head, a sunrise-halo! The hands are folded—rigid, waxen, cold, They that were once like rose-leaves, in whose veins The blood coursed swiftly, full of generous warmth And loving gifts, and flowers, and balm for sorrow. Cold are they now, as had they never yet Clasped children to the heart, nor with deft touch Broidered such fairy work, nor scattered broadcast Such fairy gifts. The feet that danced along, Leaving no trace upon the flower-petals, Lie stiff out-stretched, and round about them hang In heavy folds, as were they carved in marble, The robes that fluttered lightly in the breeze, Like opalescent wings. The grave to thee, thou Sun-child! ray of brightness! Beloved messenger of God! Arise! Canst thou be dead? and canst thou look so stern? Ah, no! not stern, but martyred! Cruel hands Have rent thy garments, dragged thee by the hair, Burnt out thine eyes, and filled thy cup with poison, As fit requital of thy priceless gifts, Kind Joy, true friend! And now they see thee dead With careless eyes, and point, and feign to think Thou ne'er hast been! Ah, Joy! sweet Joy! arise! Be stronger than thy foes! But no! 'tis vain! Poor Joy was deadly tired, and now she sleeps! |
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