Poems (Linn)/Solace in Death

by Edith Willis Linn

SOLACE IN DEATH.

ONE summer day in idle mood
 I hung above the time-worn beam
 Of an old bridge that spanned a stream
Which hurried through a lovely wood.

The brook in music flowed away;
 Above my head the white clouds curled;
 And down below another world
Of clouds and leaves that sleeping lay.

I never dreamed the world so fair;
 I longed to join the wild bird's song,
 I longed with him to sweep along
The liquid, perfume-laden air.

I filled my soul with the sweet grace
 Of roses—fresh they were and bright:
 So perfect that it seemed the light
Of God was in each upturned face.

Bewildered I beheld them fall:
 The stream received them in its might,
 And bore them swiftly out of sight,
Leaving my lips in vain to call,—

"Come back sweet roses, come again!"
 I held my hands across the tide:
 But oh! the distance grew more wide,
And I was filled with childish pain.

The bright day did not seem so bright;
 The little wood-birds ceased their glee;
 The world was not the same to me;
And sunset faded into night.

They did not fade as others do,—
 My roses: and I love to dream
 How fair they floated on the stream,
Though such a grief to lose them so.

Their perfume did not die away,
 Their glory never ashen grew;
 They only passed beyond my view
A part of that sweet summer day.

And often since as I have laid
 Life's withered roses on the tomb
 Of buried hopes; fair visions come
Of those sweet flowers that did not fade;

But passed to where I could not see.
 I know it is some brighter place,
 Because my roses lend a grace
This world has lacked since then for me.