Classic Poem

" The grave-worm revels now "
Upon the pure white brow,
And on the eyes so dead and dim,
And on each putrifying limb,
And on the neck 'neath the long hair;
Now from the rosy lips
He damp corruption sips,
Banquetting everywhere.
Creeping up and down through the silken tresses
That once were smoothed by her husband's caresses,
In her mouth, and on her breast
Where the babe might never rest
In giving birth to whom she lost her life;
She gave all and she gave in vain,
Nor saw the purchase of her pain,
Poor mother and poor wife.

Was she too young to die?
Nay, young in sorrow and in years,
Her heart was old in faith and love;
Her eyes were ever fixed above,
They were not dimmed by tears.
And as the time went swiftly by
She was even as a stately palm
Beside still waters, where a dove
Broodeth in perfect calm.
Yea, she was as a gentle breeze
To which a thousand tones are given;
To tell of freshness to the trees,
Of roses to the honey-bees,
Of Summer to the distant seas,
And unto all of Heaven.

They rest together in one grave,
The mother and her infant child,
The holy and the undefiled:
Let none weep that ye could not save
So much of beauty from the earth;
It is not death ye see, though they
Pass into foulness and decay;
It is the second birth.