The Sunshine of Death.
'Twas a glint of golden sunshine
Glancing in an open door,
Struggling through the creeping vines
To bathe a sanded floor;
Glancing in an open door,
Struggling through the creeping vines
To bathe a sanded floor;
It fell aslant a sleeping face,
And touched the silken curls
That nestled 'round a forehead chaste
As morning dew, or pearls.
And touched the silken curls
That nestled 'round a forehead chaste
As morning dew, or pearls.
'Twas only a crippled orphan,
Of summers scarcely ten,
Tho' looking like a wee, old man—
So pinched and pale; but when
Of summers scarcely ten,
Tho' looking like a wee, old man—
So pinched and pale; but when
The sunlight touched his pillow,
And turned his hair to gold,
He smiled and said: "Will-o'-
The-Wisp, I've caught you now to hold."
And turned his hair to gold,
He smiled and said: "Will-o'-
The-Wisp, I've caught you now to hold."
And opening wide his big blue eyes,
He gave a sudden grasp;
And then he stared in mild surprise
As nought his fingers clasp.
He gave a sudden grasp;
And then he stared in mild surprise
As nought his fingers clasp.
—18—
