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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Consolation. (To M. Duperrier, Gentleman Of Aix In Provence, On The Death Of His Daughter)
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Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow be eternal? 
    And shall the sad discourse 
Whispered within thy heart, by tenderness paternal, 
    Only augment its force? 

Thy daughter`s mournful fate, into the tomb descending 
    By death`s frequented ways, 
Has it become to thee a labyrinth never ending, 
    Where thy lost reason strays? 

I know the charms that made her youth a benediction: 
    Nor should I be content, 
As a censorious friend, to solace thine affliction 
    By her disparagement. 

But she was of the world, which fairest things exposes 
    To fates the most forlorn; 
A rose, she too hath lived as long as live the roses, 
    The space of one brief morn. 

              * * * * * 

Death has his rigorous laws, unparalleled, unfeeling; 
    All prayers to him are vain; 
Cruel, he stops his ears, and, deaf to our appealing, 
    He leaves us to complain. 

The poor man in his hut, with only thatch for cover, 
    Unto these laws must bend; 
The sentinel that guards the barriers of the Louvre 
    Cannot our kings defend. 

To murmur against death, in petulant defiance, 
    Is never for the best; 
To will what God doth will, that is the only science 
    That gives us any rest.
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