A tender light, when I look back,
Is all that I can see
Of that sweet time and that sweet walk—
The last she took with me.
The day was bright, and sweet, and clear,
As those they have above;
A day whose birth was not for care,
But for all peace and love.
Along the wood's green edge we stept,
Our vision downward bent;
And still the leaves above us kept
A murmur as we went.
At last we reach'd the spot where she,
In early summer days,
Had watch'd the sun all quietly
Go down with golden blaze.
Then down we sat upon the seat,
So placed that we could view
For miles the landscape in the heat,
The river running through.
And near, the stream, with babbling speech,
Leapt o'er its pebbled bed;
While hazels with their fruit in reach
Hung ripe above our head.
We heard at times the low, sweet call
Of birds distinct and brief;
And now and then the ghostly fall
Of the red autumn leaf.
We sat, and yet I could not speak,
But still as the soft air
Look'd wistfully upon her cheek,
And on the shadow there.
That shadow said, 'This is not life
But a pure flame within,
That will withdraw from earthly strife
Before it suffer sin.'
I mused and thought, How sweet the breath
That now lies on the earth,
As if the very step of death
Were a lone thing of dearth.
The fields, the trees, the singing brook,
The very clouds I see,
Have on a universal look
Of full felicity.
And yet to me their golden pride
Brings thoughts that ache full sore;
For one sweet being at my side
Will look on them no more.
She knew my thought; for, turning round
With a sweet smile, she said—
'Deem not that death can give one wound,
Or fill me with one dread.
I look upon the sky above,
On all things here below,
And take unto myself their love,
And daily stronger grow.
And now upon the brink of death,
With a mute sense of rest
I stand, and feel that when my breath
Has left, I will be blest.
Nor do I feel one bitter thought
Start up within, that I
Should fix with early death my lot
And life's rich treasures nigh.
For well I know the same sweet light
That wraps the earth this hour
Is far above without its night,
And tripled in its power.
Therefore in hope and love I wait
The hour, the end, when I
From out the dust will rise in state
To immortality.
But when I pass into the things
That are, and in thy breast
Am held but as a voice that sings
At night, when all is rest:
If one frail word of mine should rise
And strike thy inner ear,
And I should pass before thine eyes,
As I to-day appear:
Know that I come to aid the good
Which is but yet begun;
To teach thee all that fortitude
Without which nought is won.
And now when other years rejoice,
Like those that went before,
O may they keep alive a voice
That sounds on earth no more.'
She, whose sweet spirit could not err,
Sleeps from our sorrow free,
Yet the same sun that smiled on her
Shines down this day on me.