POETRY.

White Ribbon, Volume 5, Issue 58, 1 April 1900, Page 10

POETRY.

Life. Life ! I know not what thou art. Rut know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met, I own to mo’s a secret yet. Rut this 1 know -when thou art fled, Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, No clod so valueless shall he, As all that th re remains of me. Oh, whither, whither dost thou fly? Where bend unseen thy trackless course ? And in this strange divorce, Ah, tell where I must seek this compound, I To the vast ocean of empyreal flame, From whence thy essence came, Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed From matter’s base encumbering weed? Or dost thou, hid from sight, Wait, like some spell hound knight, Through blank oblivious years th’ appointed hour To break thy trance, and reassumo thy po\\>r ? Vet canst thou without thought or feeling he? Oh, say, what art thou, when no more thou’rt me ?

Life! we’ve been long together, 1 hrough pleasant and through cloudy weather; ’Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps ’twill cost a sigh, a tear ; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time ; Say not Good-Night, but in some brighter clime Bid me Good-Morning. — Mrs. Burlaued.