SHE comes through the meadow yonder,
Her face is turned to the west,
And I divine how her clear eyes shine
With the light of a lasting rest;
And the rays of the sun-set wander
To bless her, and she is blest--
By touch of their golden splendour,
By beauty of earth and sky,
Her spirit waits at the western gates,
No music can pass her by
That Heaven or Earth may send her,
I watch where I stand, and sigh.