Last Lines of Helen Hunt Jackson
A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth.Ah me! I think I never shall be dead!And leaves not even name on any stone.Annunciation lilies for the year.At peace forever, in the
Zone of Calms.But I, who loved her last and best, -- I knew.Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go!Christ is Lord of the Lord of Death!Divinely limitless in harmony!Fit days, for Feast of Expiation placed!For thee are suns which never set.In babyhood.In Love's largess.Kneeling I wait to-morrow.Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the wheat.Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost!My darlings, do you hear me? Trim the fires!O'er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find.Of death by fire, smiled, as a monarch should.Of spring anemones, in Palestine.One more sweet secret thing 'twixt thee and me.She drinks of living waters and keeps fair.So much that he cannot forgetSongs make their way.Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine!Than I had dreamed! You sent by them a message?The exile had of exile died at home.The Prince is dead.The song he heard that day.The winter is the winter's own release.
Thou poor blind spinner, work is done.To hear her brave sad laughter in the air.To sun themselves once more before they die.Upon another day!Warm to her faithful breast she folds my head.What profit from the violet's day of pain?Which stay the pillars of my house!With Christ, make haste to ask him for thy share.