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Edith Nesbit - DeathEdith Nesbit - Death
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NEVER again: No child shall stir the inmost heart of her And teach her heaven by that first faint stir; No little lips shall lie against her breast Save the cold lips that now lie there at rest; No little voice shall rouse her from her sleep And bid her wake to pain: Her sleep is calm and deep, Call not! refrain. Close in her arm As though even death drew back before the face Of Motherhood in this white stilly place, The gathered bud lies waxen white and cold, As ever a flower your winter gardens hold. She bore the pain, she never wore the crown, She worked the bitter charm, But all she won thereby is here laid down Renounced--for good or harm. Dream? Feed your soul With dreams, while we must starve our hearts on clay, Dream of a glorious white-winged sun-crowned day When you shall see her once more face to face Beside Christ`s Mother in the blessed place! But while you dream, they carry her from here, The black bells toll and toll. Oh God! if only she cannot see or hear, Not hear those ghoul-like bells that crowd so near, Not see that cold clay hole.
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