Classic Poem

I HOLD it still in my heart's embrace,
But I see it most in my hours of gloom—
A shrouded form, with a still, white face,
As I saw it last in that darkened room.

The beautiful forehead is calm and cold,
The eyes are closed, but not to sleep;
The lips have a firmer, sadder fold—
Oh, my heart would break if I could not weep.

Heavy and damp is the silvered hair—
It will bleach no more in the storm and sun;
The hands are clasped with a listless air—
They toiled for us, but their work is done.

He bade us adieu in the cold, gray dawn;
Love was the burden of word and tone;
His poor heart beat as the day rolled on—
When the twilight came we were all alone.

Never till then, in the bygone years,
Had he disregarded our lightest sigh;
But now we lavished our love and tears
On lips that murmured no fond reply.

Stricken, despairing, weary and weak,
We watched and wept through the pitiless night,
Shrinking from thoughts that we dared not speak,
Dreading the dawn of the morrow's light.

Dreading the future so cold and dim,
With its trials, sorrows and cares unknown;
We had hoped to gather its flowers with him—
How should we walk in its paths alone?

How should we sit where the cheerful rays
Of the home-fire gleamed on his vacant seat?
How go forth in the streets and ways
That still bore the impress of his dear feet?

Never, no never, can time efface
That time of parting, and pain, and gloom,
Nor steal from my heart of hearts that face,
As I saw it last in that silent room.