Unto This Last

They brought my fair love out upon a bier— Out from the dwelling that her smile made sweet, Out from the life that her life made complete, Into the glitter of the garish street— And no man wept, save I, for that dead dear. And then the dark procession wound along, Like a black serpent with a snow-white bird Held in its fangs. I think God said a word To death, as He in His chill heaven heard Her voice so sweeter than His seraph’s song. And so Death took away her flower-sweet breath One darkest day of days in a dark year, And brought to that strong God who had no fear My own dear love. Ah, closed eyes without peer! Ah, red lips pressed on the blue lips of Death!