WHEN death—the dreadful shadow of the earth—
Rests on the mortal face of Love's twin star,
Love turns dismayed, as if that shadowy bar
Could shut him off for ever in his dearth;
He turns within, and lo! a shy, new birth,
A spark of light from near, or from afar,
Pierces the darkness till, a fiery car,
It lifts him into light more wonder-worth.

Sad love! bewail not tho' you be bereft,
Nor faint not for the weary road you fare;
The spark enkindled when your heart is cleft,
The strength that grows from burthens that you bear,
Are gifts of grace for many who were left
Undowered, but for treasure you must share.