Margaret.
271
Out of the blue air failing, dying,
Like birds down dropped from over flying,
Lost in the chiming of waves that flow
To a city that's built on the banks below.
Like birds down dropped from over flying,
Lost in the chiming of waves that flow
To a city that's built on the banks below.
When the last glory of day has paled,
Out of the valley a mist, exhaled
From river and dingle and marish moss,
Rises up to the chapel cross,
Over the lap of the vale adrift
With the chapel cross in the midst uplift.
Out of the valley a mist, exhaled
From river and dingle and marish moss,
Rises up to the chapel cross,
Over the lap of the vale adrift
With the chapel cross in the midst uplift.
Nigh to the altar in bride's array,
Is one who died on her marriage day.
With marble palms together prest
She lies in breathless stone exprest;
A ripe. rose, bursting on her breast,
Strews with its blooms her flowing vest.
In sculptured lilies fairly set,
Is writ the sweet name, Margaret;
And at her feet an angel stands
Praying, with uplifted hands.
Is one who died on her marriage day.
With marble palms together prest
She lies in breathless stone exprest;
A ripe. rose, bursting on her breast,
Strews with its blooms her flowing vest.
In sculptured lilies fairly set,
Is writ the sweet name, Margaret;
And at her feet an angel stands
Praying, with uplifted hands.
