But he who loved her too well to dread
The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead,----

He lit his lamp, and took the key,

And turned it!—Alone again-he and she!

He and she; but she would not speak,

Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek;

He and she; yet she would not smile,

Though he called her the name that was fondest erewhile.

He and she; and she did not move

To any one passionate whisper of love!

Then he said, “Cold lips! and breast without breath! Is there no voice?-no language of death

"Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, But to heart and to soul distinct,-intense?

"See, now, I listen with soul, not ear,What was the secret of dying, Dear?

"Was it the infinite wonder of all
That you ever could let life's flower fall?

"Or was it a greater marvel to feel

The perfect calm o'er the agony steal?

"Was the miracle greatest to find how deep, Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep?

"Did life roll backward its record, Dear,
And show, as they say it does, past things clear?

"And was it the innermost heart of the bliss To find out so what a wisdom love is?

"Oh, perfect Dead! Oh, Dead most dear, I hold the breath of my soul to hear;

AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA

HE who died at Azan sends
This to comfort all his friends:

Faithful friends! It lies, I know,
Pale and white and cold as snow:
And ye say,
"Abdallah's dead!"

Weeping at the feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,

I can hear your sighs and prayers;
Yet I smile and whisper this:
"I am not the thing you kiss;
Cease your tears, and let it lie;
It was mine-it is not I."

Sweet friends! what the women lave

For its last bed of the grave,

Is a tent which I am quitting,

Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which, at last,
Like a hawk my soul hath passed.
Love the inmate, not the room,-
The wearer, not the garb;-the plume
Of the falcon, not the bars

That kept him from these splendid stars!

Loving friends! be wise, and dry
Straightway every weeping eye.
What ye lift upon the bier
Is not worth a wistful tear.
'Tis an empty sea-shell,-one
Out of which the pearl is gone.
The shell is broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here.
'Tis an earthen jar, whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of his treasury,

A mind that loved him: let it lie!
Let the shard be earth's once more,
Since the gold shines in his store!