877. Now by Mary Barker Dodge. Stedman, Edmund Clarence, ed. 1900. An American Anthology, 1787-1900

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

877. Now

By Mary Barker Dodge


UPON my bier no garlands lay,
To shrivel at death’s icy touch;
Pansies for thought bequeathed to-day,
Were worth a thousand such!
Rare flowers too often serve the pride	5
Which grants them—naught beside.

No lavish tears that laggard be,
Pour vainly on my pulseless clay;
A single drop of sympathy
Were richer boon to-day;	10
To-day I need it—but, thank God,
No need is in the sod.

Yield now the sign, or let me go
Unlaurelled into waiting space;
Not taunted by a hollow show	15
Of friendship’s tardy grace;
Not mocked by fruits that would not fall
Save as an idle pall.

Fair blossoms with love’s dewdrops wet,
And fondly laid in folded hands,	20
Must hold the grateful spirit yet
While wandering in strange lands;
But wounded souls the meed must spurn
That only Death can earn!