You say, O friends! that I am strangely altered;
My dying youth has won the calm of age;
Sweet strength has come into my voice, that faltered.
And why? Because my life has turned a page
After that day.
A page — you could not trace the 'writing in it, —
So blurred and blotted, faded and obscure;
Yet angels, looking down one golden minute,
Can read it all, with smile content and pure
As mine that day.
Dear sisters, walking in our pleasant garden,
Whiter than lilies, rosier than the rose,
And almost of my pale lot asking pardon, —
Wherefore? When I might pity you, God knows,
After that day.
I have no fear of life and all its noises,
Or silent death, since more than life it brings,
In halcyon nest midst earth's tumultuous voices,
My soul sits quiet, folds her wings, and sings,
After that day.
