Poems (Denver)/Thy Heart is with the Dead

by Mary Caroline Denver

THY HEART IS WITH THE DEAD.

I see a blight upon thy brow,
 Within thine eye a gloom,
Hast thou no joy in being now,
 That thou should'st miss its bloom?
From out thy spirit's inner shrine,
 A glorious light has fled;
Thou'st felt its brilliancy decline,
 Thy heart is with the dead!

O, when the spring-time wandered here
 With all her bright array,
Thou saw'st her loveliness appear,
 Thou saw'st its sure decay;
And with her light has vanish'd one,
 Whose life too quickly fled;
Death sought the goal; the victory won,
 Thy heart is with the dead!

Alas! alas! that death should bring
 A blight upon each bloom;
The dead have felt his venomed sting,
 The living feel his gloom.
With thee, with thee, life once was bright,
 Gay hopes before thee sped;
Where is the sparkle of their light?
 Thy heart is with the dead!

Dost thou not feel thy inmost life
 Die, inch by inch, away?
Within thy heart, the bitter strife
 That calls thee to decay?
A longing for a thing not found;
 For hopes too quickly fled;
The land for which thou now art bound;
 A rest beside thy dead?