Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine <br />Too brightly to shine long; another Spring <br />Shall deck her for men's eyes---but not for thine--- <br />Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening. <br />The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf, <br />And the vexed ore no mineral of power; <br />And they who love thee wait in anxious grief <br />Till the slow plague shall bring the final hour. <br />Glide softly to thy rest then; Death should come <br />Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee, <br />As light winds wandering through groves of bloom <br />Detach the delicate blossom from the tree. <br />Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without pain; <br />And we will trust in God to see thee yet again.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/consumption/
