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Poem

From silken mists scarred stones give tongue
To canticles raised to twilit drear,
Of frolicked hours when seasons were young,
And Promise chastised every fear.
Once brightly smiled upon our days
The kindly sun of Life's beauteous womb,
The reaching hearts, our breathless gaze
Died not nor sleeps within this tomb,
But thunders soft from lips long stilled
No lonely dirge, nor dour 'plaint,
For 'neath these cold mounds Love's not stilled,
Nor slumbers lame with voiceless throat,
It whispers yet though rude encased,
E'en past Death's flowered moat
Too strong a song to be effaced...

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