No more with thy bright sisters of the sky,
Who warble ever,
Wilt thou send forth thy choral melody,
Sad maid! for ever.
No more the bright, innumerable train,
Who move in Heaven,
Will know thy face upon the etherial plain,
At rosy even.
The night will mourn thine absence ever more,
With dewy tears,
And, the bright day, will, dimmer now, deplore,
The darkened years.
Our wandering eyes will search for thee in vain,
And we shall sigh
That thy high beauty could not conquer pain,
The doom to die.
Earth scarce had mourned some lesser beauty–thou,
Celestial maid!
Mid all didst wear a so unearthly brow,
And thou–decayed!
The beauteous thought of thee which, ray-like, slept,
In our pure love,
Became a memory which we have kept
To grieve above.
Gone, like the withered pride of early Spring–
Like sweet songs, o’er–
Ah! thou hast turned from us thine angel wing,
To come no more.
Struck from thy high and glittering sapphire throne,
In upper light,
Say, did thy loveliness go, hopeless, down,
To nether night?
Or, throned beyond the gloomy fate to fall,
Bright maid divine!
Sublime amid the Eternal’s flaming Hall,
Dost thou e’er shine?
(James Avis Bartley)
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