Select Poetry.

Colonist, Volume IV, Issue 343, 1 February 1861, Page 4

Select Poetry.

TOO LATE. Hush ! speak low—tread softly— Draw the sheet aside: Yes, she does look peaceful; With that smile she died. Yet stern want and sorrow ' Even now you trace On the wan, worn features . Of the still, white face. Restless, helpleßs.'hopeless Was her bitter part; : Now, how still the violets ; : Lie upon her heart. She who toiled and laboured , . For her daily bread; See the velvet hangings Of this stately bed. ' Yes, they did forgive her, Biought her home at last, ' Strove to cover over Their relentless past. Ab, they would have given Wealth, and uame, and pride, To see her looking happy ■ , Once before she died. They strove hard to please her, But, when death is near, - All you know is deadened— Hope, and joy, and fear. And, besides, one sorrowDeeper still, one pain— Was beyond them; healing Came to-day in vain. If she had but lingered Just a few hours more; Or had this letter reached her Just one day before! I can almost pity Even him to-day, o ■■- . Though he let his anguish Eat her heart away. Yet she never blamed him. One day you shall kno>T How this sorrow happened ; It was long ago. I have read his letter; Many a weary year For one word she hungered— There are thousands here ! If she could but hear it, • Could but understand! See, I put the letter Jn her cold white hand. Even these words so longed for, Do not. stir her rest. Well, I should not murmur, For God judges bestShe needs no more pity; But I morn his fate, When he hears his.letter Came a day top late. — All the Year Round.