Classic Poem

I SAID , “The bitterness of grief is gone;
Henceforward I will only think of her
As one too glad for selfish tears to stir—
A saint who touched and blessed me and passed on;
My angel evermore to bend and take
My broken prayers to God for love's dear sake.”

“The bitterness of grief is passed,” I said;
Then turned and saw about me everywhere
The dear, accustomed things her touch made fair;
Her books—the little pillow for her head,
The pen her hand had dropped, the simple song
She laughed in singing when a note went wrong.

I said, “The bitterness of grief is fled,
Knowing a new saint walks in Paradise,
With peaceful heart and quiet in her eyes.
And this at last shall comfort me,” I said.
But O, this song she sang, this book she knew,
This little pillow—must I brave them too?