POETRY.
TILE LAST WISH.
Come when I am dead, love, On a day to me ; I shall not feel you tread, love, Tenderly !
Come not very soon, love, To the quiet place ; Let it be in June, love, In the grace Of a summer day, love, Very calm and fair, Let our Mabel play, love, Merry there !
Look between the trees, love, Into airy bloom, When the summer breeze, love, Wafts the fume Of many a summer flower, love ; Songs from near the nest ; My memory shall have power, love, To invest Earth with subtler grace, love, And a rarer joy, Who knew me face to face, love, From a boy.
I would not have thee weep, love, Hopeless in thy woe ; Only from my sleep, love, Let there flow Through the summer light, love, Shadow of a loss, Mellowing delight, love, In my moss.
For the land revealed, love, All her heart to me, Nor will keep concealed, love, Aught from thee.
Now my fault may stain not Cheek of thine with tears, Bloom of love may wane not Envied of the years !
Yet, oh ! for warm embracing Thee upon my breast ! And oh ! for interlacing Fainting into rest !
But gaze into the distance ; Mellow lies the earth ; God with sweet insistance Held our hand from birth, Led us from the far light, Where He only knows, From the silent starlight Where the souls repose.
He from everlasting Led us docile here, Joined our hands unhasting, Now recalls me, dear !
Darling, He is yonder Wheresoe'er I go, Life nor Death may sunder From His heart I know.
Therefore do not weep, love, He is calling home ; Still the day is deep, love ; In the evening, come ! BODES NOEL.
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