I seem to live them again,
Forgetting the moments that could alloy
Pleasure with sharper pain.
But, ah! that rose of paradise,
Her lip so full and red,
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Grows pale in the evening light, and dies,
And a pearly whiteness shed
Over her face seems like a pall;
And now the angels' chime
Comes through the air with a rippling fall
From heaven, soft and sublime.
And now they bear my love away
Up heaven's eternal stair,
And leave me to dream my life away,
To sleep and find her there.
B. W. W.