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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420889" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Picture</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'<br>The maiden is not dead, but sleepeth.<br>'<br>She is not gone;—still in our sight <br>That dearest maid shall live, <br>In form as true, in tints as bright, <br>As youth and health could give. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still, still is ours the modest eye; <br>The smile unwrought by art; <br>The glance that shot so piercingly <br>Affection's keenest dart; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The thrilling voice, I ne'er could hear <br>But felt a joy and pain;— <br>A pride that she was ours, a fear <br>Ours she might not remain; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whether the page divine call'd forth <br>Its clear sweet, tranquil tone, <br>Or cheerful hymn, or seemly mirth <br>In sprightlier measure shown; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The meek inquiry of that face, <br>Musing on wonders found, <br>As 'mid dim paths she sought to trace <br>The truth on sacred ground; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The thankful sigh that would arise, <br>When aught her doubts removed, <br>Full sure the explaining voice to prize, <br>Admiring while she loved; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pensive brow, the world might see <br>When she in crowds was found; <br>The burst of heart, the o'erflowing glee <br>When only friends were round; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hope's warmth of promise, prompt to fill <br>The thoughts with good in store, <br>Match'd with content's deep stream, which still <br>Flow'd on, when hope was o'er; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That peace, which, with its own bright day, <br>Made cheapest sights shine fair; <br>That purest grace, which track'd its way <br>Safe from aught earthly there. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such was she in the sudden hour <br>That brought her Maker's call,— <br>Proving her heart's self-mastering power <br>Blithely to part with all,— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All her eye loved, all her hand press'd <br>With keen affection's glow, <br>The voice of home, all pleasures best, <br>All dearest thoughts below. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">From friend-lit hearth, from social board, <br>All duteously she rose; <br>For faith upon the Master's word <br>Can find a sure repose. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And in her wonder up she sped, <br>And tried relief in vain; <br>Then laid her down upon her bed <br>Of languor and of pain,— </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And waited till the solemn spell, <br>(A ling'ring night and day,) <br>Should fill its numbers, and compel <br>Her soul to come away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such was she then; and such she is, <br>Shrined in each mourner's breast; <br>Such shall she be, and more than this, <br>In promised glory blest; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When in due lines her Saviour dear <br>His scatter'd saints shall range, <br>And knit in love souls parted here, <br>Where cloud is none, nor change.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Henry+Newman">John Henry Newman</a><div class=q>
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The maiden is not dead, but sleepeth.
'
She is not gone;—still in our sight 
That dearest maid shall live, 
In form as true, in tints as bright, 
As youth and health could give. 

Still, still is ours the modest eye; 
The smile unwrought by ar..."></div>
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