POETRY.
Strange and Sweet I i. v To have our cup of bliss by Death's cold hand Struck from our lips the while we idly range Green meadows May begemmed on either hand Is passing strange. But then to feel our darling lies at rest, With fair Spring flowers blooming at his feet And tired hands folded gently o'er his breast, Is passing sweet. in. To know that he has seen God's perfect Light Transfigured by some awful mystic change With whom we watohed the dying sun last night Is passing strange, rv. But then to "know for him all pain is o'er. Untouched by winter's cold or scorobinjf heat, Sorrow and sighing fled for evermore, Is passing sweet. F.8.D., in Westminster. i. , — .
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Bibliographic details
Evening Post, Volume LIV, Issue 21, 24 July 1897, Page 2 (Supplement)
Word Count
123POETRY. Evening Post, Volume LIV, Issue 21, 24 July 1897, Page 2 (Supplement)
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