dots-menu
×

Home  »  An American Anthology, 1787–1900  »  330 A Remembrance

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Willis GaylordClarke

330 A Remembrance

I SEE thee still! thou art not dead,

Though dust is mingled with thy form;

The broken sunbeam hath not shed

The final rainbow on the storm:

In visions of the midnight deep,

Thine accents through my bosom thrill

Till joy’s fond impulse bids me weep,—

For, wrapt in thought, I see thee still!

I see thee still,—that cheek of rose,—

Those lips with dewy fragrance wet,—

That forehead in serene repose,—

Those soul-lit eyes—I see them yet!

Sweet seraph! Sure thou art not dead,

Thou gracest still this earthly sphere;

An influence still is round me shed,

Like thine,—and yet thou art not here!

Farewell, beloved! To mortal sight

Thy vermeil cheek no more may bloom;

No more thy smiles inspire delight,

For thou art garnered in the tomb,—

Rich harvest for that ruthless power

Which hath me bound to bear his will:

Yet, as in hope’s unclouded hour,

Throned in my heart I see thee still.