Lines Written By A Death-Bed

Yes, now the longing is oerpast,     Which, doggd by fear and fought by shame,     Shook her weak bosom day and night,     Consumd her beauty like a flame,     And dimmd it like the desert blast.     And though the curtains hide her face,     Yet were it lifted to the light     The sweet expression of her brow     Would charm the gazer, till his thought     Erasd the ravages of time,     Filld up the hollow cheek, and brought     A freshness back as of her prime,     So healing is her quiet now.     So perfectly the lines express     A placid, settled loveliness;     Her youngest rivals freshest grace.     But ah, though peace indeed is here,     And ease from shame, and rest from fear;     Though nothing can dismarble now     The smoothness of that limpid brow;     Yet is a calm like this, in truth,     The crowning end of life and youth?     And when this boon rewards the dead,     Are all debts paid, has all been said?     And is the heart of youth so light,     Its step so firm, its eye so bright,     Because on its hot brow there blows     A wind of promise and repose     From the far grave, to which it goes?     Because it has the hope to come,     One day, to harbour in the tomb?     Ah no, the bliss youth dreams is one     For daylight, for the cheerful sun,     For feeling nerves and living breath,     Youth dreams a bliss on this side death.     It dreams a rest, if not more deep,     More grateful than this marble sleep.     It hears a voice within it tell,     Calms not lifes crown, though calm is well.     Tis all perhaps which man acquires:     But tis not what our youth desires.