Page:Poems Griffith.djvu/80

             I'm dying now;
Life's sands are falling fast, the silver cord
Is loosed and broken, and the golden bowl
Is shattered at the fount. My sun has set,
And dismal clouds hang o'er me; but afar
I see the glorious realm of Paradise,
And by its cooling fountains, and beneath
Its holy shades of palm, my soul will wash
Away its earthly stains, and learn to dream
Of heavenly joys. Farewell! despite thy cold
Desertion, I will leave my angel home,
Each gentle eve, at our own hour of tryst,
To hold my vigils o'er thy pilgrimage,
And with my spirit-pinion I will fan
Thy aching brow, and by a holy spell,
That I may learn in Heaven, will charm away
All evil thoughts and passions from thy breast,
And calm the raging tumult of thy soul.