The Coming of the Princess and Other Poems by Kate Seymour MacLean
page 77 of 146 (52%)
page 77 of 146 (52%)
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Somewhere they are blossoming over
The spot where I shall sleep. Asleep from this wearisome aching, With my arms crossed under my head, I shall hear without awaking, The rain that blesses the dead. And the ocean of man's existence,-- The surges of toil and care, Shall break and die in the distance, But never reach me there. And yet--I fancy it often-- I should stir in my shrouded sleep, And struggle to rise in my coffin, If he came there to weep. Among the dead--or the angels-- Though ever so faint and dim, I should know that voice in a thousand, And stretch my hands to him. But the trouble of life and living, And the burden of daily care, And the endless sin, and forgiving, Are greater than I can bear. So rain, Summer Rain, and cover The meadows dewy and deep, |
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