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THE SPIRIT AND THE ANGEL OF DEATH.
Look beyond what they seem to be;
Then come and say, are they not ripe for me.
Spirit. I have been over the green earth again;
I have heard the voice of sorrow and pain;
I saw a shining almond-tree fling
Its silver wreath, like a gift, to Spring:
At cold breath came from the northern air;
The leaves were scatter'd, the boughs were bare.
I saw a ship launch'd on the sea,—
Queen of the waters she seem'd to be;
An hundred voices benizon gave,
As she cut her path through the frothing wave.
'Twas midnight—she anchor'd before a town,
Over which the sun had gone lingering down,
As loath to set upon what was so fair.
Now the smiling moon rode on the air,
