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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117572" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lines On the Death of Two Children</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">WRITTEN WHEN BUT FIFTEEN YEARS OF AGE.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They sleep! but not theirs is the slumber that breaketh,<br>When night with its gloom and its darkness hath flown;<br>The morn in the light of its beauty awaketh,<br>But in silence and darkness they still slumber on:<br>They sleep, but no visions of sleep are around them,<br>That silence, that darkness, can never confound them;<br>For death, icy death, in his fetters hath bound them,<br>And round the young spirit his cold spell hath thrown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Together in youth's brightest bloom they have wither'd,<br>Ere grief their young spirits had clouded with gloom,<br>And like flowers, in the light of their loveliness gather'd,<br>Whose fragrance is sweetest when faded their bloom;<br>So still shall their memory fondly be nourish'd,<br>In the hearts of their friends shall their virtues be cherish'd,<br>And though in the prime of their life they have perish'd,<br>Their remembrance shall be as a grateful perfume.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is sad to see youth in its loveliness dying,<br>Ere the freshness of spirit hath wasted away,<br>While the earth seems around like a paradise lying,<br>And the hopes of the bosom too bright for decay—<br>Before life's cup of care hath imparted its fever—<br>Ere hope, smiling hope hath been proved a deceiver—<br>This world seems too lovely to part with forever,<br>To mingle again with inanimate clay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus have they died while their hopes were the fairest,<br>While life only seem'd like a beautiful dream,<br>Adorn'd with whatever is richest or rarest,<br>Whatever most bright to the senses may seem—<br>They died, and the cold turf is resting above them—<br>They heed not the grief of the bosoms that love them,<br>The tears of affection no longer can move them,<br>Or wake them again to the day's joyous beam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Consumption! 't is thou that their life-springs hast wasted!<br>'T is thou that hast wither'd the bud in its bloom!<br>“T is thou the young tree in its greenness hast blasted,<br>And o'er them hast thrown the dark veil of the tomb!<br>Thou foe to the lovely, the gay, and the blooming!<br>How soon the bright spirit, the features illuming,<br>Will fade from the cheek and the eye at thy coming,<br>Save when the bright hectic disperses their gloom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Death! it is strange how thy cold touch will alter<br>The forms that so lately were healthy and gay—<br>On the lips once so bright, life a moment will falter,<br>The next, they are pallid and motionless clay.<br>The lips and the eyes with bright happiness glowing,<br>The bosom proud beating of sorrow unknowing,<br>The gush of emotion around the heart glowing,<br>How soon will they perish and wither away!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet, it were better to die in life's morning,<br>Before we have seen its illusions depart,<br>Than to live when the flowers that our life were adorning,<br>Have wither'd, and hope hath deserted the heart—<br>'T were better, when mandate of death has been spoken,<br>That slowly and singly life's chords should be broken,<br>Than in health's brightest bloom without warning or token<br>At once to be stricken by death's fatal dart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Had they lived, other ties to the earth would have bound them,<br>Withholding the spirit from rising on high,<br>And dearer and warmer affections twined round them,<br>Embittering doubly the life-parting sigh—<br>When parents for stay on the young are reclining<br>When husband or wife round the bosom are twining,<br>Or orphans are left in the cold world repining,<br>Oh! then it indeed must be anguish to die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is painful to stand by the couch of the dying,<br>And watch the pale form speeding fast to decay,<br>In anguish to list to the half-broken sighing,<br>That tells from the heart life is stealing away,<br>Yet then—while its flight the loved spirit is winging<br>While in agony round the pale form we are clinging,<br>Even then—brighter hopes in the bosom are springing,<br>As we feel that our parting is but for to-day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117572" data-title="Lines On the Death of Two Children de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="WRITTEN WHEN BUT FIFTEEN YEARS OF AGE./They sleep! but not theirs is the slumber that breaketh,/When night with its gloom and its darkness hath flown;/The morn in the light of its beauty awaketh,/But in silence and darkness they still slumber on:/..."></div>
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