She sits beside the window. All who pass <br /> Turn once again to gaze on her sweet face. <br />She is so fair; but soon, too soon, alas, <br /> To lie down in her last resting-place. <br /> <br />No gems are brighter than her sparkling eyes, <br /> Her brow like polished marble, white and fair - <br />Her cheeks are glowing as the sunset skies - <br /> You would not dream that Death was lurking there. <br /> <br />But, Oh! he lingers closely at her side, <br /> And when the forest dons her Autumn dress, <br />We know that he will claim her as his bride, <br /> And earth will number one fair spirit less. <br /> <br />She sees the meadow robed in richest green - <br /> The laughing stream - the willows bending o'er. <br />With tear-dimmed eyes she views each sylvan scene, <br /> And thinks earth never was so fair before. <br /> <br />We do not sigh for heaven, till we have known <br /> Something of sorrow, something of grief and woe, <br />And as a summer day her life has flown. <br /> Oh, can we wonder she is loth to go? <br /> <br />She has no friends in heaven: all are here. <br /> No lost one waits her in that unknown land, <br />And life grows doubly, trebly sweet and dear <br /> As day by day she nears the mystic strand. <br /> <br />We love her and we grieve to see her go. <br /> But it is Christ who calls her to His breast, <br />And He shall greet her, and she soon shall know <br /> The joys of souls that dwell among the blest.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fading-3/
