  She, whom through life her God forbade to hear The voices of her nearest and most dear, So that she dwelt, amid the hum and rush Of cities, in a vast, eternal hush, Yet heard the first low calling of the voice That others had not heeded in the noise, And rising, when it whispered “Come with me,” Followed the form that others could not see, Smiling, perchance, in death at last to hear The voices of the Angels fill her ear, While the great, silent void that closed her round Was overflowed with rippled floods of sound, And the dumb past in Alleluias drowned. March, 1877. [Decorative image unavailable.] |
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