In Memory of Caroline Furness Jayne

Could'st thou—thou, also, die, whom life so cherished?Could'st thou go from us, in thy beauteous June,Leaving a sense of joy untimely perished,Of music stilled too soon?

We had not dreamed, fair child, that thou before usShould'st find the meadows of the asphodel—Should'st hear, ere we, "the high imagined chorus,"—But, ah, for thee, 't is well!

Not thine to creep reluctant to death's portal:Thy spirit from the mirk of transient thingsRose radiant to the light of the immortal,With eager, outstretched wings!

For the grave gods, bestowing every blessingUpon a child of Earth, ere grief should come,Crowned thee, in youth, with the mild touch caressingThat calls their loved ones home!