I SAID, "The bitterness of grief is gone; Henceforward I will only think of her As one too glad for selfish tears to stir -- A saint who touched and blessed me and passed on; My angel evermore to bend and take My broken prayers to God for love's dear sake." "The bitterness of grief is passed," I said; Then turned and saw about me everywhere The dear, accustomed things her touch made fair; Her books -- the little pillow for her head, The pen her hand had dropped, the simple song She laughed in singing when a note went wrong. I said, "The bitterness of grief is fled, Knowing a new saint walks in Paradise, With peaceful heart and quiet in her eyes. And this at last shall comfort me," I said. But O, this song she sang, this book she knew, This little pillow -- must I brave them too? |