Oh, joy of the dying! <br />At last thou art mine. <br />And leaping to meet thee, <br />Impatient to greet thee, <br />A rapid and rapturous, sensitive, fine <br />Gayety steals through my pulses to-day, <br />Daring and doubting like pleasure <br />Forbidden, or Winter looking at May. <br /> <br /> <br />Oh, sorrow of living! <br />Make way for the thrill <br />Of the soul that is starting- <br />Onlooking-departing <br />Across the threshold of clay. <br />Bend, bow to the will <br />Of the soul that is up and away!<br /><br />Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/released-9/
